


I'll wrap up my bones, And leave them

by LunaCanisLupus_22



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ancient Evil Forces, Ancient masked hunters, Awkwardness, Epic broships, Everything works out alright, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feral Derek, Follows on from season four, Friendship, Humour, Inhumane devices, M/M, Mysterious masked enemies, Nemeton recovery, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Post possession fic, Post-Canon, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Slow Build, Werewolf gone wild, Werewolves in cages, coming to terms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-28 20:23:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 65,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3868573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaCanisLupus_22/pseuds/LunaCanisLupus_22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sign on the cage actually reads Beware: The Beast! in that crappy horror movie red paint that trickles down the paper in a failed attempt to appear like dripping blood. </p><p>And it would seem stupid if not for the living supernatural creature currently trapped behind its bars. Little hard to dismiss the big, hulking werewolf as a poorly constructed horror movie prop.</p><p>Oh how the mighty have fallen. Dude, cannot catch a break.</p><p> </p><p>Or the one with feral!Derek whose head is not only trapped in a metal mask but has also been sold to a Circus as their newest attraction. Of course it's up to Stiles and Scott to rescue him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Biting words like a wolf howling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic title is from Daughter's song [Still](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uUWrcFpmI5U).
> 
> This is a foray into the future teen wolf plotline and follows the canon events after season four (When we still didn't know Hoechlin isn't returning) It's basically one way I might imagine Sterek could happen (Because lets face it. It's not going to. Sorry to crush dreams but let's be realistic here)
> 
>  
> 
> To clarify the tags. Derek and Braeden are still together in the beginning of this fic but besides obscure mentions to the relationship this eventually develops into a Sterek fic. There is no Braeden hating in here, or of any other character because peace and love guys.
> 
> Also there is an aforementioned self made playlist Stiles listens to at some point in this fic called BREATHE, DON'T DIE and it can be listened to at this link [here](http://8tracks.com/ocean-blue/breathe-don-t-die)
> 
> Go ahead, I dare you.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“You’re kidding me, Stiles. His abs?” Scott demands, peering closer through the bars and squinting sideways as if that’ll somehow allow him to see into the metal cage fixed onto the beast’s head.

Stiles taps his chin thoughtfully as some old dude with a camera slung around his neck snaps a photo beside him. The sign on the cage actually reads: Beware! The Beast! in crappy horror movie red paint that trickles down the paper, as a failed attempt to appear like dripping blood. 

And it would seem stupid, if not for the living supernatural creature currently trapped behind its bars. Little hard to dismiss the big, hulking werewolf as a poorly constructed horror movie prop.

This travelling Circus of Freaks definitely exceeds any of his expectations. And as Stiles has a pre-existing foe in the evils of labelling, he feels comfortable in admitting that the only freaky thing in this Circus of Freaks is the poor conditions that the werewolf is apparently living in. 

Have these people not heard of PETA? Stiles isn’t sure he wants to imagine the kind of wrath they’d bring down upon this place. Figurative bloodshed, definitely. 

The beast echoes a pressed off growl, soft but uncertain. With none of the menace and brute strength that Stiles has grown to enjoy.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Dude, cannot catch a break.

Within the metal cage around its head, two flashing pinpricks of blue follow the camera's flash through the tiny glass slit. It's most likely there to show the beta’s supernatural eyes in dramatic little moments such as that. Stiles grabs the front of Scott’s shirt and gestures frantically, but Scott is not entirely convinced that one menacing flash of blue steel can mean it’s their particular brand of loveable, brooding werewolf. 

Seriously, where’s the faith?

“Dude, no joke. That is definitely Derek Hale.”

Scott huffs out a frustrated sound, and subtly edges forward to the front of the group to get a proper sniff. Noses is the only way to go. Stiles’ expression can only be classified as fond as he elbows his way after him. 

Derek may be a subspecies of human and wolf- though Stiles argues persistently of the sour variety- but that doesn’t mean what’s going on right now is okay. It’s basically on the opposite end of the ‘okay’ spectrum.

When the flier for the Circus of Freaks had appeared in his mailbox with a photo of their main attraction, described only by the delightful moniker of The Beast, Stiles had actually laughed at the cosmic joke that is Derek Hale’s life. Because even if his theory is wrong- and he’s not often wrong- the supposed ‘Beast’ is definitely somebody’s werewolf. With a gigantic metal cage wrapped around its head. 

It’s like Daft Punk gone wrong. And it just happens that Stiles is absolutely certain it’s their regular run of the mill beta-turned shitty alpha-turned reasonably good beta with a proclivity for pushing him into stuff: Derek Hale, werewolf extraordinaire. 

And though he’s glad to have found Derek after leaving him and Braedan during the evil Berserker-Scott phenomenon a month ago, it doesn’t mean he hadn’t thought, well dude had finally died for real in respect of Stiles’ openly vocal wishes to the fact. 

The evidence had been pretty damning at the time. Considering they hadn’t seen either of them since. 

So much for wanting to turn over a new leaf as the good guy and big, older brother figure watching Scott’s back. He should’ve known Derek isn’t the type to show up for much else other than getting his butt kicked. The patterns speak for themselves in that regard. Factually speaking, Stiles has probably won more fights than Derek. 

Hard truths.

But it's only one of the many hard truths messing with his life at the moment. Another is the fact that surprise! Stiles is only half serious about the wanting him dead bit. True story. See all the maturity and life experience he’s acquired since he died via a magical tree? 

Surprising as that realisation was, it was even more shocking after Braeden came around to see Scott and inform him of Derek’s capture amidst their search for the desert wolf a few weeks ago. And Stiles’ gut had kind of twisted at the time in the midst of a gastric spasm just at the thought of Derek imprisoned. Again. Possibly dead. Because worrying for Derek is unquestionably a very new development. 

Turns out, he’s a guy full of contradictions.

And if that’s what caring for the outreaches of humanity feels like, Stiles wants no part in it.

Apparently, they’d gone up against some drifting hunters in Oregon who'd gotten the jump on them and when she’d finally come to, Derek had been taken. The werewolf prize to hang on the wall. 

Is that a thing? Do hunters even do that these days? Stiles hopes not. He’d never seen anything that macabre in Chris Argent’s house.

She’d also gone to explain that not only is Derek not-dead, but has also unlocked the full wolf form of his former crazy alpha- dead and reborn- uncle Peter. Which, okay that’s some fine personal growth and all. Stiles can appreciate that. 

From there the following steps seem simple enough. Find Derek. Rescue Derek. Teach Derek how to werewolf if he still hasn’t figured out the logistics of that yet and then shamelessly admire his flexing muscles whenever he passes close by.

The usual routine. Stiles can handle it. No sweat. 

When he finally pushes through the crowd to meet Scott at the front of the cage, he nearly knocks a little girl over in the process just as Scott turns back with a crinkled line in his brow. They silently communicate the equal degree of horror they’re experiencing right now. Sharing is caring, after all. 

Stiles is also moderately concerned about the age group present. Seriously, who brings their kid to a Circus of Freaks? Stiles’ mom wouldn’t even let him visit a regular circus that used live animals as an entertainment gimmick. Not that that had mattered much with his ADHD; any kind of event requiring him to sit still for duration of longer than ten minutes was wasted on him. 

Sort of still is. On a bad day. Then again most days are bad days, so what’s the lesson here?

Either way, it’s fairly easy to follow his mother’s lead in boycotting the whole thing altogether. Less crippling guilt at supporting animal cruelty and all that. Stiles is pretty sure lions or whatever have better things to do than jump through some fat guy’s flaming hoop. 

Just saying.

“I can’t smell anything,” Scott mutters. “He’s definitely a werewolf, though. I mean, look at those claws… which are covered in freaking blood. ”

The werewolf in question- a.k.a Derek- is naked chest up, obscured beneath filth and various degrees of wet and dried, flaking blood. The wounds that are fresh, open and mean looking suggest something probably that the metal cage covering his face like he’s the Man in the Iron Mask must be charmed to suppress his ability to heal. 

Very not cool. His feet, which are poking out of the torn fabric and ragged edges of his denim jeans are completely bare, showing off some menacing toenails that are as jagged and chipped as if he’d run them down to stumps. The mechanics of that seems excruciatingly painful.

The constrained noise he made earlier makes a lot more sense when Stiles peers closer and sees through the open slit of metal forcing his jaw open wide enough to reveal his fangs, but still compressing them closed. Probably to avoid any werewolf biting-the-hand-that-feeds-it kind of poetic justice. 

Unfortunately that hasn't prevented the sheen of blood coating his mouth from where his fangs have split his lower lip open. A bloodied torn mess of what _used _to be his lip, to be more accurate.__

It’s- pretty awful as images go. Stiles could happily have lived his entire life without witnessing it, if he’d had any choice. Derek’s luck is literally the worst. If they manage to get him out, he should volunteer for scientific study of the phenomenon that is the horrifically shitty situations he inevitably ends up in.

The cosmos playing jokes again.

It’s a lot easier to dismiss the inherent 'oohs' and 'aahs' of their fellow assholes on the tour as background noise. Otherwise, he’ll fall into the pit of despair that is the knowledge that some people commercialise animal cruelty whether it’s supernatural or not. And that some total dickbags- present company included- pay them to do it. 

Granted, he and Scott bought tickets as well but seeing as they intend to bust Derek out, he figures that’ll balance out in the grand scheme of things. Karma will forgive them for that minor infraction, surely.

“It’s Derek,” Stiles says as his fingers touch the metal rungs of the huge cage he’s trapped within. 

His ankles are chained to the steel floor and appear to extend enough for him to pace around, but not reach for the bars with his wrists also cuffed tight and restricting movement. Not to mention the heavy padlock on the front of the bars locking everything all neatly into place. As if it’s not already secure enough. 

Obviously. Circus of Freaks ain’t stupid. 

As Stiles’ fingers touch the metal, a sharp zap burns through his flesh like an electric shock and he quickly whips his hand away with a curse. “The bars have some voodoo on it," he announces. "They’re probably what’s stopping you sensing him.”

He pushes his fingers into his mouth when he notices that they’ve started smoking. That's a little concerning. Despite the quick conclusion that it’s relatively painless and sort of like a coffee burn, he’s still not taking any chances. Not when smoking fingers come into play. Safety first.

“But his abs, Stiles?” Scott protests. “You’re telling me that we need to break out this probably feral werewolf, based on the composition of his stomach muscles? Dude, really?”

Stiles flushes. “Don’t front, Scotty. It’s not like I’ve licked them or anything. And how many times have we seen Derek shirtless? Or writhing in pain from some new torture in front of us? More times than possible to count on both our fingers. I know his abs, dude. And those are in fact, _Derek’s abs. _”__

Scott groans but reaches out to test the bars anyway with a finger, ripping his hand away when the magic pulses stronger at the reading he gives off. The spell is no doubt much more potent for meddling supernatural beings rather than curious humans. Scott‘s finger turns black, and he quickly sticks them into his mouth with a pained noise because he is a firm believer in bro solidarity and had to touch the bad thing after Stiles touched it first. 

Friendship. True friendship, right there. 

Oh, well. It’ll work out. Circus of Freaks probably didn’t think there would be human pack members involved. If it’s going to take a bit of spontaneous bodily smoking to bust Derek out, Stiles is cool with it. He's willing to make that sacrifice. 

The padlock can be picked pretty easily. So, all hope is not lost for once. There is a concrete plan to be put into motion. Sweet. 

“We can do it,” Stiles encourages. “We’ll just need a distraction. You should probably do it cause human flesh don’t singe quite like werewolf on this cage.”

“But won’t you still get burnt?” Scott worries. “And what if Derek attacks you? I won’t be close enough to stop him.”

And of course because Derek has a truly dedicated sense of timing, he chooses that exact moment to explode from the docile position on the floor, all snarling rage as he swipes the stick some brat must’ve been poking him with. The little shit. 

He snaps it in half with a bellowing roar and the crowd gasps in horror and delight as more camera flashes go off. Good lord. What is wrong with the world? When Derek starts trying to ineffectually slash throats from within the cage, Stiles actually wants to face palm. It’s almost like he’s _trying _to convince them not to save him. And that's just sad.__

__When Stiles feels brave enough to look at his best friend for his opinion following Derek's core meltdown, Scott's face is full of dread. He might be even more vehemently against this plan than he was before. Whatever, Scott needs to deal._ _

“It’ll be fine,” Stiles promises meekly. “He should recognise me, I think. I mean, I doubt I’ll fit in his little werewolf oven.”

Scott frowns, and yep, he is definitely not on board with this plan. “And if he doesn’t?”

Stiles shrugs. “Then you get to avenge me?”

Scott gives him the usual condemning look following the proposal of one of many harebrained schemes that Stiles can confidently say is a sham, because Scott usually goes along with it anyway. Always, goes along with it. Man, he loves this guy.

“I don’t really see how avenging you should be plan B, Stiles.”

“It’s all we’ve got," he insists. “But you will avenge me, right?”

Scott grins and pats him solemnly on the back just as the tour group starts moving on to the next display. Knowing this Circus, it’s probably a hairy Yeti or a lake dwelling Ogopogo or something. “I’ll totally avenge you, man,” Scott promises. “Just be careful.”

There’s a bearded lady leading their tour, but Stiles is actually pretty sure that she’s a troll. As in the kind that hang out under bridges and licks the meat from people’s bones. Other than that, he’s sure she's got a winning personality. This Circus of Freaks is looking a lot more supernatural than anybody might have originally guessed.

She’s not paying very much attention though, so Stiles doesn’t even have to make bathroom excuses in order to linger around. Jeez, he would’ve thought security might be a bit tighter considering the violent werewolf they’ve trapped in a magical cage. But all he does is stay where he is, standing in front of The Beast’s cage like an idiot as the group moves on and nobody asks any questions. 

Huh. It’s almost a little insulting how easy it is.

Stiles pulls out the lock picking tools he brought especially for this and quickly gets to work. Seems like being a Sheriff’s kid with a curious brain and way too much time on his hands is finally paying off. Statistically, it had to eventually. 

He’s just opened the cage door when Scott comes strolling back.

“What the hell?” Stiles hisses. “What happened to the plan?”

Scott just shrugs with a kind of bewildered confusion that speaks volumes. Terribly concerning volumes. “When nobody noticed you left, I just sort of... walked away. Nothing happened.”

“What is _up_ with this Circus?” Stiles wonders aloud before ducking inside the cage and leaving it open for Scott to follow.

It might be the wrong thing to do. Probably. Definitely not what could be considered self-preserving in hindsight. 

Derek doesn’t exactly lunge at him like the bratty kid which is great because Stiles doesn’t want to watch his insides spilling across the metal floor. Although, what he does instead is probably worse.

He goes still. Completely still. Just like a predator does when it lies in wait for hours watching its prey for the right moment to strike. Stiles sincerely hopes this is not that moment. 

“Hey, there big guy,” he says, trying to keep his voice low and pacifying. 

Derek may not be able to talk but he might still be able to hear them. Even in the Iron Mask. Stiles is placing a lot of naive hope in that idea. 

“You’re okay, Derek. It’s me, Stiles and Scott. Remember Scott? The guy you believe is the alpha messiah? Just both of us here to help you out. So, if we just do this nice and-”

Derek jolts at the first touch to his left ankle and growls low in his throat but thankfully doesn’t flinch away. Or start slashing. The tiny movement is still entirely traumatic though. For a hot second, the end is nigh. 

Scott steps forward as if to intervene but when no sudden death is forthcoming, Stiles holds up a hand to stop him. The not attacking thing is working so far. He doesn’t want to upset the balance. When no one starts smoking, biting or anything else equally sinister, he keeps going and unlocks the first cuff.

“See. Nothing weird here,” he continues, attempting to be comforting as he rambles on. It’s hard to place the open metal onto the ground without rattling the chains too much. But he manages. Barely. “Just two dudes helping you out. It’s cool. Hey? You’ll be fine.”

“Why are you talking to him like he’s a dog?” Scott whispers as he moves onto the manacles around Derek’s wrists. 

He breaks the first one with his bare hands and Stiles huffs with poorly concealed annoyance at how easy he makes it look. Werewolf cheating.

“I’m trying to be soothing,” Stiles argues back. “You know cause Iron Man over here probably can’t see us.”

Scott abandons Derek’s trapped hand in favour of inspecting the metal hunk of doom completely obscuring his face. It’s pretty hardcore. The look Derek’s sporting can definitely be classified as of the monstrous kind. Removing it is high on the priority list. 

Except of course Stiles has no present ideas on how to detach it. Whatever. Problems for future Scott and Stiles to deal with.

The subtle rescue effort of freeing Derek’s ankle is abruptly derailed by Scott’s sudden howl of pain. Stiles drops all the tools in panic, as his head snaps up to find the source of the fire. Scott’s holds his hands up disbelievingly as they quickly turn red, then deep purple before slipping into a blackness that screams imminent death as they rapidly swell up. 

In the span of a few seconds. 

Uh oh. That looks like it might be a problem. A painful problem. 

Stiles winces. “Okay, no touching Iron Man again ‘til we get him to Deaton.”

Scott stares perplexedly at his mangled hands with outright consternation. “Good call.”

Exactly. Stiles is the master of good calls. With Scott’s hands out for the count, he finishes up with the ankles and moves on to the last cuff. Derek is shifting a lot more by the time he reaches it, getting antsy, and he tries to hurry up. He’s not too sure what a cooped up werewolf will do with freedom on the horizon. He’s sensing run. Without looking back.

That could be problematic. 

Especially, if Derek can’t see where he’s going. At least Stiles thinks he can’t see. He peers into the glass slit again to check but it’s just blue eyes glowing back. It’s not the big discovery he’s looking for, but he figures Derek has some degree of eyesight. Even if his chances at peripheral vision are slim. 

The last cuff finally unlocks and Derek wrenches free with a snarl, nearly taking the flesh off Stiles’ shoulder with his swinging claws as he passes by. He yelps, but somehow ends up in the clear as Derek barrels out of the cage and into freedom.

Scott’s in the middle of shaking out his injured hands before he recovers and leaps after him. They scramble out of the enclosure together and Stiles hurriedly shuts and padlocks it again because he’d like to think an empty locked cage might mystify the Circus folk.

It should. Assholes.

Thankfully, Derek doesn’t get far. Which is great cause there’s only one exit in this hellhole. He’s doesn’t want to play I spy the distressed werewolf right now. Derek’s breathing heavily and crouched in the grass in his regular I’m-a-tough-werewolf pose before he usually gets his ass kicked and Stiles looks at Scott for some mystical alpha direction.

_What do you think? Risk it? _Scott's raised eyebrow asks.__

_Probably going to die anyway _, Stiles shrugs back but they both cautiously approach from either side of Derek's vicious looking claws at the same time. Slow, like he’s made up of explosive material.__

His shoulders hunch inward and tense but Derek doesn’t attack which most likely suggests that he can still smell who they are. At least Stiles thinks so. Maybe. 10 per cent chance, at least. It could be worse. The odds could be completely stacked against them. 10 per cent is the most progress they’ll see given the situation. 

Stiles bends down just as Scott does on Derek’s right and tries not to flinch at all the blood and exposed flesh now that it's up close and personal. A pretty picture it does not make. The skin of his back is victim to some heavy flagellation, if the way Derek looks as if he’s been lashed like a 19th century convict is anything to go by. There is no dispute that the wound is a potential birthing ground for some kind of nasty infection.

And pretty high on the list of visual horrors as well but there are more alarming things to look at. Like Scott’s hands, which Stiles can see have now started to blister. If that’s supposed to be stopping the urge to empty the contents of his stomach, it’s doing the exact opposite. 

Stiles has read this thing about touch therapy calming nervous animals and sees it as an opportunity to unleash the Tellington TTouch on Derek’s already unsteady emotional state. It basically activates cells in the body, so he lets his fingers gently trail down Derek’s bicep, ignoring all of the danger zones- the fresh wounds- as he rubs a few clockwise circles into his skin. 

Derek shivers, but doesn’t make a growly noise to dissuade him otherwise so Stiles thinks it’s a go when he gently coaxes Derek to open his fist so he can slip his hand into it. There’s an infinitesimal pause when Stiles thinks he’s going to lose said hand which turns out he values highly for his own happy time lately. Going lefty just isn’t the same. But to his relief, Derek’s hand unfurls like a blossom and Stiles is able to slide his own into the warmth of it with a sigh of relief. 

He glances over to Scott, immensely pleased with the headway they just made. How to train your werewolf 101. That’s a heavy trust bridge they just crossed. It’s possible he might be getting the hang of this supernatural stuff. Stiles bathes in success for a moment before he catches the expression on Scott’s face.

It’s all open astonishment before Stiles realises that Scott didn’t go for hand holding with the potentially feral werewolf and has an arm wrapped around Derek’s elbow instead. Without using his horror hands.

Of course that’s stupid. Why would anyone think to hold hands with a wolfed out Derek? Elbows all the way, dude. Rookie mistake.

Scott’s expression shifts with understanding because unfortunately, he knows Stiles like his wolfy back hand which includes but is not relative to, his recent single status and then he smirks. There is a lot of smirky understanding that Stiles does not appreciate. He flushes and quickly amends the problem, slipping his hand free and catching Derek’s elbow instead.

What? It’s been only a few weeks since he and Malia called it quits. He’d like to think it mutual, but it was mostly Malia wanting to figure out who she is and how losing most of her family/finding out Peter is her biological father will define her. Without him. As an individual person who's gone through a lot of horrible shit. Nearly as tragic as Derek. 

Makes sense. She can't really be expected to date anyone if she doesn't even know who she is as a human girl and not a were-coyote.

It was pretty crappy but Stiles still has his own problems to deal with, what with all the not sleeping, traumatising night terrors and inbuilt restlessness that is his life now. They were two wrong messes of people trying to make a right. 

It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway. And true enough, Stiles really needs to help himself before he can focus on a relationship right now. 

It’s doubtlessly for the best. It just means Malia, Lydia and Kira have been having a lot of girl's nights lately. And that Stiles is left with righty to get him through. But hey, he’s been doing it since he figured out what his dick is for so it’s no real hardship.

He won’t be as unreasonable as to think they’re immediately friends but Malia at the very least doesn’t want to kill him. That’s a win in his book. They’ll get to friends eventually. He’s not worried. But unlike what Scott’s thinking, not being laid in several weeks has not made him thirsty enough to start panting after Derek again. 

At least he hopes not.

Shit. What is he thinking? That they’d both hold the werewolf’s (note: potentially rabid) hands and skip off into the sunset? He consciously keeps the contact to a minimum after _that _momentus slip up.__

Nothing untoward here. Just a single dude, helping out another feral dude who’s dating a scary lady that will most definitely kill him if he looks at Derek’s naked chest for longer than acceptable. And how is that his fault if Derek is always walking around shirtless all the time? His eyes are truly to blame here anyway. They’ve mutinied since the first time Derek angrily tore off his clothes as he's been known to do on many occasions. 

Stiles is in no way in control of this. Denial is a great river to be splashing about in isn’t it? 

Plus, it’s only natural his eyes stray a little. Derek is a choice specimen after all. He’s seen Kira, Lydia and Malia do it. Even Scott that one time. It’s not like he’s monopolising Derek’s abs here. And wow, he really needs to start working on boundaries doesn't he?

Scott sniggers a little so Stiles flips him off and tries to stop his heart beating so fast because that’s the first thing werewolves notice. Derek makes this weird kind of noise as if he might possibly be disappointed at losing Stiles’ magical glowing hand of destiny but Stiles writes that off as his own nerves playing tricks on him. 

There’s still nobody around so they head back they way they arrived, leading Derek straight out of the Circus. Easy as blinking.

It so strange. Stiles is not used to things being this simple. 

His heart is pounding with adrenaline as if his PTSD can’t help but flair up in any occasion. Which it does. Frequently. That’s kind of the point of the problem. It even happens when he’s brushing his teeth for bed now. Who knew hanging around your werewolf best friend could be so damaging? Don’t even get him started on the Nemeton. He and his father’s lack of sleep from Stiles’ night time screaming has a lot to say on _that _particular subject.__

It gets even weirder when they pass the ticket booth housing the really bored looking teenager they’d bought the ticket stubs from earlier. She’s hunched over, and reading a book that Stiles thinks is thick enough to pass off as an effective murder weapon. When she senses them coming, she perks up a little before raising a challenging eyebrow as she notes the big, wolfy souvenir they’re trying to sneak past her booth. 

There are subtler things than a giant, hulking werewolf.

They freeze, expecting her to raise the alarm but she just looks at the state Derek's in then brazenly rubs two fingers together with a pointed look at them both. There’s a tense silence as Scott pulls out a twenty and slides it under the protective glass screen with a puzzled expression. 

It’s a new thing for them. But the girl accepts the cash with a wink, waves them on and goes back to reading her book.

Stiles both wants to thank her and have a serious debate in the question of her underhanded scruples. Though to be fair, she did let them go. So she’s probably only half a terrible person. It’s all very confusing.

They lead Derek out to Stiles’ jeep parked on the edge of the Preserve where the Circus of Freaks set up their camp yesterday and he stumbles twice before Stiles realises he can’t see his feet with the metal junk around his head and warns about the next tree root appearing in their path. Derek still trips over it anyway, just to be an ass. 

If Stiles had ever given a shot to be a Seeing Eye dog, he thinks the situation might be similar to this. Only, he sucks. A lot. A Seeing Eye dog would be much more helpful than he and Scott right now. Just saying.

“That was weird right?” Stiles wonders in a whisper even though there’s clearly no need for duplicity when they’ve literally just _walked _out the front door. “I mean, even for us that was weird.”__

“Yeah, I don’t get why nobody cared,” Scott says. “That girl seemed okay, but.”

Stiles scoffs as they reach the jeep, opening the door and helping Derek into the back. He only half protests with minimal inhuman sounds which is great and Stiles leans over him to buckle him down only a little breathlessly. 

What? He’s practically naked alright? Stiles can feel the heat radiating off his chest and it makes him want to do very questionable things. Like touch him a little. Just to feel all that muscle beneath his palm. 

And sure, he asks Scott to make out all the time but it’s a lot different to unleashing the same proposition on Derek. Who he assumes makes out with people- usually the evil kind which no doubt speaks of his ill choices- all the time (revise: specimen). But still. There’s possibility. 

At least, Stiles believes there’s possibility only by never ever speaking of the matter. It’s like Derek’s his Schrödinger's cat. By never opening the box of unspoken things and asking Derek about the feelings boner he’s been carrying around since the start of all this werewolf business, Stiles both has a chance and no chance in hell.

The Derek paradox. It’s oddly calming thinking of it like that.

When that’s done, Stiles walks around to Scott’s door to open it for him like a gentleman. Chivalry lives on. Mainly because the blisters on his hands have basically transformed into ugly looking boils by now and it’s probably safer that Scott doesn’t touch anything. Maybe it spreads like a disease. 

So not only does he need to get to Deaton to remove Derek’s face trap, dress his wounds and probably give him a tick bath- Scott also needs to be quarantined. Not bad for a night's work.

“I’m pretty sure she was a soulless money grabber with like zero morals.”

Scott laughs as Stiles pulls out of the parking lot. “You would’ve done the exact same thing.”

“Please,” Stiles says rolling his eyes. “I would’ve asked for fifty at least. It’s just good business sense.”

They’re on the road to Deaton’s Clinic when the rarity of the situation sinks in.

“Can you believe how easy that was?” Scott asks reading his mind like the epic bro he will forever be.

Stiles is still in denial of all the many ways it could have gone ass up. Namely, featuring Derek eating them. “Wish all our problems were as simple as that. You’d probably go broke, though.”

Scott snorts. “Yeah. Next time the next monster rolls into Beacon Hills we’ll just bribe them with my pay check.”

“Full proof right?”

Scott waves his disturbing hands in the air as if to prove his point but it’s such an alarming sight that Stiles’ train of thought goes off the tracks and crashes violently into a ravine below. Those are some messed up hands. Will Scott even be able to jerk it after this? Maybe he and Kira have reached that stage by now and she’ll help a brother out. 

Stiles doesn’t know if their broship extends to him touching Scott’s junk. He hopes not. That’d be weird.

These are the type of things Stiles worries about. Sort of. And on the topic of worries…

“Shouldn’t Derek be, uh talking?” Stiles asks after a few seconds of patient silence. “I distinctly remember him being more of a talker. Even if it’s of the bitten off, cut you deep in your soul variety.”

Scott turns in his seat to get a better look at the werewolf in question. Stiles would take a peek too but his hand eye coordination requires eyes on the road for him to drive effectively. Go figure. 

“I think, it might be the mask?” Scott guesses. “He looks like he can’t open his mouth.”

Stiles has a million questions. If he can’t open his mouth then how was he eating the entire time he was living in that cage? Did they do it through a straw? IV straight to the bloodstream with all the nutrients he needs? Does that mean he has lockjaw? He can’t be expected to believe that Derek’s survived on nothing but oxygen and positive thinking to get him through. 

From experience Stiles knows that’s not gonna cut it.

“You reckon he’s been there the whole time?” Stiles wonders, appalled. “The entire month?”

Scott hums a little while he thinks about it. “I don’t think so? I think even you’d be able to smell him then. They probably sold him to that Circus a little over two weeks ago.”

Stiles is sort of half listening for Derek to grunt an affirmative but he’s still sitting on silence in the back. He might be sulking. If Stiles had been strung up in a cage as the eighth wonder of the world for a bunch of tourists with questionable ethics and poor camera skills, he’d be pissed too. 

“Hey Derek?” he calls. “Are you okay back there? Grunt once for yes and twice for no.”

The continued silence is a little concerning. Or is it just downright contempt? Stiles isn't too sure. He and Scott exchange glances. “Maybe he’s not answering cause you’re being a dick?”

Stiles rolls his eyes but he’s pretty sure he’s not that special. Something is seriously up with Derek. As if this night isn't peculiar enough. 

“I don’t think that’s a thing,” he insists even though he’s known Derek to act like a little shit habitually whenever Stiles is being a dick first. They have a system. “You were sort of joking before but can he go feral? Is that like a possibility?”

Scott leans into the back of the jeep again. “Hey Derek. Look, you’re kind of worrying me a little. Can you make a sound to let us know you’re okay?”

Another awkward pause. Stiles grips the wheel a little tighter. Scott sighs and straightens up in the seat. “He’s gone.”

Stiles nearly swerves off the road. “What?” he cries. “He’s _dead? _Did you check for a pulse? Or glowing eyes. Oh God. Scott, dead body in the jeep is SO NOT COOl.”__

“Relax, Stiles. He’s not dead,” Scott declares wryly. “I think he’s gone like _mentally _.”__

That’s-

Probably worse then being dead actually, come to think of it. Stiles’ level of concern grows high enough to produce its own cloud cover. “What, like he just checked out?” he demands. “What does that even mean? He’s got wolf brain? What the hell, dude. How do we even _fix _that?”__

“Deaton will know,” Scott says confidently with a sense of faith that's unwavering. “Maybe he’s been wolfed out for so long that he’s trapped or something? I think that mask-“

“Iron Mask.”

“Right, so Iron Mask seems like it’s preventing the shift? And stopping him from healing as well? Have hunters used this before?”

“Give me a computer and some twizzlers, and I can get to the bottom of it. I think.”

Stiles doesn’t sound like he’s inspiring confidence which is fine because he’s not feeling remotely positive that he can actually figure this out. Who even thought up this stupid Iron Mask idea anyway? Assholes, that’s who.

Deaton’s Clinic is closed when they get there but that’s okay. Stiles is pretty sure that Deaton has no social life. His suspicions ring true when Stiles uses Scott’s keys to unlock the main doors. 

“We’re closed,” Deaton calls out from one of the nearby operating rooms. Typical. Stiles helpfully tugs Derek through the walkway just as Deaton comes out to meet them. 

“We’ve got a bit of a problem,” Scott admits, waving his swollen hands in the air.

Deaton’s eyes widen before he frowns and notices Derek in the Iron Mask behind them. It's not something that can be easily ignored. They probably look like an interestingly diversified group of weirdos. “Oh dear. You’d better come through.”

Scott goes in first and Stiles follows leading Derek- by the elbow alright?- who seems oddly amenable about the whole thing considering he’s lost his mind. “Okay, so Derek’s sort of non-responsive-“

Deaton waves him off and hurries to grab a bowl and some herbs. “Derek is fine for now. It’s Scott’s hands that concern me.”

Stiles encourages Derek to sit down in one of the waiting chairs before he edges cautiously over to Scott’s side. “But he’ll be okay, right? Werewolf healing and all.”

Deaton doesn’t answer straight away as he finishes mixing the herbs into the bowl and adds what looks questionably like blood to the potion. “I hope so. This is an ancient magic I haven’t seen in my lifetime. Very powerful.”

He takes Scott by the wrists and gently encourages his hands into the red water. Scott lets out a whimper and the air violently hisses at the contact, steam billowing out like someone’s just induced a compact explosion. Stiles will not deny it looks awesome. He’s all about accurate representation of current events. 

The smoke smells faintly of clove and Stiles gets to watch Scott’s boils burst apart in the water. It’s kind of sick but he can’t look away. Sort of like bystander apathy.

“Stiles,” Scott mutters grimacing around the pain. “Can you get my cell and text Kira? I promised I would once we grabbed Derek.”

Stiles has no qualms reaching into the pocket of Scott’s pants to search for it. What? They are totally comfortable bros and Stiles has touched Scott’s butt plenty of times. Mostly on purpose.

_Hey it’s Stiles :) got D. Scott cnt talk coz of swollen pimp hands. May/may not b perm wolf trapped in Iron Man. Will update. ___

“Done,” he says and hits send just as Derek starts this strange high-pitched sound. If he’s comparing it sort of reminds him of that odd squealing noise little toddlers make when they’ve just discovered they enjoy the sound of their own voice. 

Is Derek discovering speech at this very moment? 

Deaton focuses his attention toward the danger zone immediately and guardedly approaches Derek even though Stiles is pretty sure the noise is telling him not to. It feels like a great big warning sign of inevitable destruction, to be honest. 

“Keep your hands in the medicine, Scott,” Deaton calls over his shoulder as Stiles moves back to Derek again with Scott’s cell still in his grip. 

If there's gonna be bloodshed Stiles wants to be close enough to try and do something about it. He's a problem solver at heart.

Deaton leans in toward the mask but doesn’t touch it in any way, shape or form, quickly proving he has better sense than two curious teenagers. Stiles will admit touching the thing was not good common sense. It's basically drenched in untapped malevolence. And it's definitely no fashion statement. 

“This is what caused the burns?”

“Yeah. And it’s also what I think is keeping Derek from speaking?”

“Hmm,” Deaton says thoughtfully as he studies the metal closely. “I don’t think that’s entirely true. You see, it is the iron magic that binds his wolf. So it is most likely overexposure that limits his ability to speak.”

“Overexposure?” Scott wonders, wincing a little. He's most likely regretting touching Derek's demonic face mask now. 

Deaton leans closer to inspect the open wounds covering Derek’s body. “Let me see how best to explain. Are you familiar with the Legend of Icarus?”

“Sure,” Scott offers before Stiles can. Looks like his study game is still going strong. “Daedalus fashioned wings for him and his son Icarus’ escape, telling him to follow his path and not fly too high or too low. Icarus flew too high, the sun melted his wings and he fell to his death.”

“Gotta love that hubris,” Stiles points out helpfully. 

And no, he is not hinting Scott’s got some hubris of his own. Not at all. It's not like Scott will do anything to protect people. Anything and not limited to, dying for them. Nope. Stiles isn't suggesting that at all.

“The werewolf shift can be likened to the tale of Icarus. By flying too low the sea would clog his wings and by flying to high the sun would melt them. For a werewolf by not shifting regularly control of the wolf can be lost and by remaining shifted for too long-“

“The human can be lost?” Stiles finishes with dismay. “So Derek is gone?”

Not to sound morbid but there’s not much human left in Derek to begin with. Well, maybe there is. It’s just most of the softness seems to have been burned out of him. Not that he’s not a loveable asshole, or anything. But still. Boy can be bleak. He needs every last bit of humanity he can get. 

Worst case scenario is to lose it all together. Stiles doesn’t want to think about that. 

“Not entirely. Not yet,” Deaton promises. “Before we can even think about how best to bring the human side of Derek to the surface, the mask that binds his werewolf form needs to be removed.”

“Can you do it?” Scott presses. “How long do we have until Derek’s lost for good?”

Deaton hovers his palms over the Iron Mask, seemingly sensing the power within. “The spell has been active for about two weeks. If Derek remains transformed for longer than one lunar cycle, I think bringing back his human aspect might be impossible. I’ll need to consult some texts but it should be solvable.”

“And what do we do with not-human Derek in the meantime?” Stiles asks, jerking his thumb in the direction of the dude who’s currently tilting his helmet of terror back and forth like he’s trying to scent the air around the metal.

It looks like he’s going for some EDM intense drug trip kind of dance moves. There is so much wrong with this picture. And yet Stiles still can't look away.

“Uh… is he dangerous like this?” Scott asks, watching the evident strangeness that is the new and more messed up Derek. 

Stiles doesn't even know if they are equipped to handle the regular kind of Derek to begin with. This new Derek is a whole other ball game entirely.

Deaton considers that for a moment. “I don’t believe so. He still acknowledges you as his alpha and I’m sure Stiles would be more vocal on the matter if Derek had attacked anyone tonight, so he's relatively tame.”

“You know me well,” Stiles admits, shamelessly flattered though it’s seems more on the passive aggressive side of a compliment. Deaton sure is one smooth talker.

“So what should we do with him in the meantime?” 

That's probably the most pressing issue. They can hardly sit him down and play scrabble until Deaton solves this cursed object conundrum. “Try and clean his wounds so that infection doesn’t set in. Keep him fed. I don’t think it’s possible to open up his mouth properly so you will need to find another alternative. I would suggest keeping him close to packmates in this vulnerable state. Scott preferably.”

“I’ll call my mom and ask. Derek can stay in the spare room?” 

Scott phrases it in such a way to explain the very real weirdness that is their life now. Stiles can’t agree more. This is so much beyond regular weirdness that Stiles isn't adjusting quite yet. He's gonna need more than a minute to accept Derek's a metalhead now. 

“I’ll call Braeden to let her know we found Derek?” Stiles suggests with only a fraction of the awkwardness he feels. 

He can hardly say he and Braeden are friends. Allies sure, but he doesn’t think they’ve said more than a handful of words to one another. Stiles also thinks Braeden has some inkling into the Schrödinger's feelings boner situation. Which is both alarming as they haven’t even really spoken that much and awkward as hell because how does she know that then? 

Braeden’s commitment to learning everything about potential allies and enemies is intense. For sure. She may possess a sixth sense.

Scott just shrugs helplessly in that wordless way that sums up how out of depth they constantly are in life in general but specific to this exact moment. Stiles takes that nugget of wisdom on the fly as he ducks out of the Clinic to dial Braeden’s number.

She’d given it to Scott when she’d passed through town after dropping the Derek-is-missing bombshell, so he has no idea which part of the continent she might be on. He’d assumed that she’s just gone and resumed her search for the desert wolf in Derek’s absence. He’s not entirely positive on what mercenaries even do in their spare time. Contribute somehow to society? Cross stitching? It's a toss up really.

The number rings out twice before she picks up. “What do you want?”

Which weird? Stiles never gave her his number? Her senses can nearly be categorised as supernatural. Or she’s just that friendly with every phone call? Stiles’ money is on the latter. 

“Like from life?” he wonders. “Or as in right now, currently?”

There’s a heavy sigh, and the voices in the background grow dimmer as if she’s just stepped outside. “This is Scott’s friend, right?” Braeden asks. “Uh… Stiles. The mouthy one.”

Wow. Everyone is just buttering him up today. Seems like. Compliment city: population Stiles. “The one and only. Look, I’m calling because I found Derek-“

“He’s okay?” Braeden asks, interested now that Derek’s wellbeing is on the table. 

Now he knows the answer if he ever wants to call for a friendly chat. That’s a soft pass on camaraderie for now and any future dates.

Stiles grimaces. “Sort of? He’s got this giant metal cage wrapped around his skull keeping him partially shifted and his human side has kind of checked out until further notice which could be permanent if he doesn’t get free within a new moon cycle.”

He’s still holding Scott’s cell phone so in order to distract himself from the horror that is this conversation, he unlocks it and starts snooping through Scott’s recent phone calls. Because of reasons. What? Sometimes it's calming just to keep his hands occupied. 

In the meantime Braeden's already processed all of this new information because she’s efficient like that. “Look, Stiles. I’m going to be honest with you. I’m right on the desert wolf’s trail at the moment and I’m closing in. I can’t turn back now. You and Scott sound like you’ve got it covered. And if you don’t, doesn’t Derek have a sister?”

Stiles winces as Aiden’s name pops up in the call list, because of course Scott’s that unorganised as to keep dead people’s contact numbers. He scrolls quickly through the variations of Kira, Lydia and a whole hell of a lot of his own name. Which is kinda sad in that it makes him look a little clingy. Considering one says he called twelve times in the span of one hour. 

If Scott answered his damn phone they wouldn't have this issue. 

His breathing constricts when he comes across Allison’s name and his heart rapidly twinges at the unexpected hurt. Then he’s scrolling past Boyd and Erica’s numbers as well. Jesus.

“Cora’s in South America,” Stiles tells her, a little on edge. 

It’s not like she’s outright dissing Derek but the flippancy in her voice makes him want to lay down some serious attitude that their strenuous association won’t survive him dishing out. 

He quickly locks Scott’s cell again and stuffs it into his jeans because he doesn’t want to look at it anymore. Possibly, because going down that rabbit hole will just encourage a further spiral into crippling sadness. He should not know that many dead people for his age. 

It's a little soul shattering to be honest.

“You probably won’t need me anyway. Besides, Derek and I aren’t really that serious.”

Ouch. Well, that’s just- “But I’m sure it’ll be good for him to hear from you for like, uh, support or something. He’s pretty confused at the-“

There’s a loud crash on her end of the line. “I gotta go,” Braeden mutters. “Good luck with Derek.”

And then she hangs up.

Some girlfriend. 

But in all fairness, are they even dating? Stiles isn’t a 100 per cent sure of that. 

In fact, there is a whole magnitude of things that he’s not sure of. And Braeden sounds like she has a blood feud with this desert wolf. Vendettas are clearly very important to the friendly neighbourhood mercenary. It’s not like she and Derek are married or whatever. He probably shouldn’t assume that they’re eternal soul mates after only about a month of getting horizontal. 

Sadly, Derek’s probably had periods of capture longer than his relationship with Braeden. Knowing his track record. Sad as it is, but true. 

He can’t really fault her for putting herself first. Besides, they do have it handled. Scott will take care of Derek. Stiles will sort of belatedly assist him without any more hand holding weirdness to get caught out on and maybe he’ll access some spiritual healing within himself to unlock the secret to a good night’s sleep in the process. Deaton will get the mask of ancient wonder off Derek’s head before he loses his human nature altogether.

And then once Braeden’s done with this desert wolf business, she and Derek can sit down and _define their relationship _. Because now, even Stiles is invested in learning the status of that. What? He’s naturally predisposed toward curiosity. It has nothing to do with Derek’s abs.__

__And then somehow, despite everything, it will all work out hunky dory._ _

Here’s hoping.

“Hey Stiles?” Scott calls from inside the Clinic and he sounds a little strained. Probably more boils popping at this stage. “Can you get back in here?”

Stiles pockets his cell and hurries back inside, wondering what might have gone wrong in the two minutes he took for that phone call. Scott’s fingers fall off? Derek’s head explode? When he makes it back into the operating room Deaton is paused very carefully in front of Derek whose claws are around his neck. 

And hello, things have definitely escalated in here. 

“Hey, dude,” Stiles cries, rushing forward, unthinkingly, to intervene. “What the hell, man? Let Deaton go.”

The front of Deaton’s shirt is wet with what looks like disinfectant that he probably tried to apply to Derek’s open wounds. Stiles knows for a fact that stuff stings like hell. And nobody wants that in their open cuts. Even a werewolf on a good day. 

Scott’s half leaning towards them like he wants to assist but his injured hands are still trapped in the magical bowl of healing touch to do much of anything. It doesn’t turn out to be an issue though when Derek quickly releases his death grip on Deaton.

“He wouldn’t listen to me,” Scott says desperately. “I thought you said he still saw me as his alpha?”

Deaton doesn’t look too shaken- although to be fair, he never does- and takes a step back to clean up his shirt a little. Derek half stands up, half crouches like he’s decided he’d like to leave. Which, no. Can’t have Iron Mask running through the streets like a scene from a horror movie.

“It appears, he doesn’t particularly understand language so much as instinctive cues,” Deaton explains. “He responded to the stress in Stiles’ voice and that is why he released me.”

“Did you use the alpha voice?” Stiles asks. “Maybe you need to be wolfed out to communicate with your werewolf buddy over here.”

Scott moves his shoulders up and down to gesture toward the bowl his hands are currently trapped in. Oh, right. No shifting here. Derek makes this weird guttural noise, originating deep in his throat as he tries to move again.

“Hey, hold up there, buddy,” Stiles commands, stepping forward to face down the anxious werewolf. “Deaton over here needs to clean you up a bit first.”

“Do that thing you did before,” Scott urges as he brightens with the idea. “That circle touch at the Circus. You got a tense werewolf to open up a clenched fist before.”

Deaton raises an eyebrow. “Circle touch?”

Stiles flushes, because he’s pretty sure Deaton knows everything about it already. He is still technically a veterinarian. “It’s this thing I read that’s supposed to calm humans and animals by inducing electrical impulses in the cells of the body.”

Deaton takes another step back and opens his arms freely to invite Stiles to give it another go. Which okay, sure, he can do it. That’s fine. 

It’s just. What if the first time it was merely a fluke and Derek’s going to claw his face off? Though to be fair, the Tellington TTouch is originally designed for dogs, so he’d probably deserve it. Maybe it can be considered a little demeaning. And Lord knows, Derek’s probably taken enough awful, disparaging crap to last a lifetime. 

If it isn’t for the fact that it can be applied to humans too, Stiles could never have done it to him guilt free. So there is some grey area here.

May as well give it a shot. There’s no doubt that Derek is probably having a real shitty time right about now. Though, what’s worse is that it probably doesn’t qualify for his top ten. Bearing in mind that his _entire family died_. In a fire lit by Kate which Derek shoulders the blame for, considering he was dating her at the time. Or being manipulated by an adult hunter into believing his teenage werewolf self was in a healthy relationship before she slaughtered his entire family, to be more horrifyingly accurate. 

Not to mention what other range of horrors he’s been exposed to.

Stiles knows about the rod that pierced his chest. As in went straight through his entire body and basically _impaled_ him.

This is barely a blip on Derek’s horrific-things-that-happen-to-him radar. So there’s no real hardship to edging closer to press his fingers into the meat of Derek’s shoulder. Thankfully, he doesn’t poke a claw into his neck and Stiles is able to rub a clockwise circle into his skin, moving back along his right arm this time as he works. 

Derek lets out this little hum and Stiles totally ignores when he opens the clenched fist of his hand again. As if Stiles has somehow conditioned him to do it via a Pavlovian effect. Stiles’ spine twists out a helpless shudder at the manipulative qualities of that and pointedly doesn’t look at Scott who’s definitely grinning like a madman.

“You can probably go ahead,” he tells Deaton when he finds his voice. 

It comes out scratchy and weak, like he’s going through the early stages of puberty again. Deaton appears to be analysing the whole interaction with his critical Emissary eye.

“That’s surprisingly effective,” he acknowledges as he begins pouring the disinfectant onto a wet cloth so he can dab it onto Derek’s wounds. “Where did you come across this touch?”

Derek jolts under his hand at the burn so Stiles quickly increases the pressure in his fingers until he calms again while Deaton continues to apply the medicine. “Never underestimate what can be understood through late night hours of increased boredom and some hefty Google searches.”

“Ah, the effects of the Nemeton are still manifesting within your dreams?” Deaton wonders once he’s finished on Derek’s back and begins working his way across his chest.

Stiles’ circles have nearly reached the crease of Derek’s elbow. He might run out of room before he’s finished. There’s no rule that the touch has to follow a certain path but he’s a little worried the delay between touches could be catastrophic. Stiles shoots a glance at Scott who’s got an expectant look on his face. 

To be honest, Stiles hasn’t been too forthcoming on the Nemeton’s effects. Or the Nogitsune's. To anyone. Especially, seeing as Scott doesn’t seem as affected as he does. Sure, he’s a little more serious. Maybe doesn’t laugh as easily as before. But that’s probably more to do with Allison.

Stiles throat is suddenly parched as the familiar deep regret settles into his bones. A sensation he’s grown accustomed to since his mother died. It’s awful. 

They don’t talk about Allison. At all. Especially Lydia. When she’d died there’d been so much going on that no one had had real time to mourn. There hadn’t even been a funeral. Well, not a ceremony at least. They basically just put her in the ground.

And even now. The grief is still fresh like Derek’s open wounds. And it seems worse somehow to take the time to grieve for the loss of Allison now. Tacky. As if they’ve lost the opportunity to do it right. So no one mentions her. But Stiles can see the way it's affecting Scott. 

He tries a lot harder now. To protect everyone. He’s a natural leader and that doesn’t surprise Stiles in the least. A true alpha. It just kills him to watch Scott deal with such heavy loss for the first time. Like watching his mom die all over again.

But apart from that he’s doing a lot better than Stiles is. Though to be fair, he didn’t also get possessed by a Nogitsune. So it makes sense that the nightmares are wholly a Stiles Stilinski experience. He very pointedly doesn’t look at his fingers because at this point if this is a dream he really, really doesn’t want to know.

In his experience, the nightmares always take a turn for the worse when he’s lucid enough to understand he’s dreaming.

“I guess,” Stiles mutters, shrugging a shoulder as he turns away with the intent to get at Derek’s forearm but it’s really just to hide his expression. His fingers shake on the next circle and he’s certain Scott notices.

“All done,” Deaton announces, just as Stiles reaches the bones of Derek’s wrist. 

He sighs in relief and goes to pull away. Just as Derek reaches up and catches his hand. Stiles startles a little at the sudden move but figures Derek’s just wanting him to continue. What? He’s tried it on himself, he knows it feels good. And it’s relaxing. If only the effects could be permanent. Then he might sleep through the night.

He lets Derek pull him in closer and generously starts rubbing a circle into the palm of his open hand. While he’s doing it, he’s sort of forced to acknowledge how many fingers are on his own as he’s bent over the guy. 

Ten for ten. So not another nightmare. Good to know. When Derek finally releases him, Stiles is feeling much better. Which is probably selfish in the face of Derek’s general suffering, but hey, everyone’s got problems right? He can prioritise both. Multitasking and all that.

Stiles helpfully pulls out Scott’s phone again, edges around the bowl to get at him as he dials Melissa. When it’s ringing, he holds it up to Scott’s head and Scott cradles it between his ear and shoulder. The hands free thing is looking like it might cause trouble. Whatever, Scott’s dealing.

“Hey Mom,” Scott says and Stiles ignores the little twinge of jealousy he always feels when Scott uses the word so freely. “You at work? Yeah, we found Derek but turns out there’s a bit of a situation and I was wondering if he could stay in the guest room for about a week or so? Dad still hasn’t come back right?”

Since he killed the Chemist and blew clear of the town to report it to his bosses, Scott's father hasn’t come back. Stiles is certain he will though. That asshole is definitely not intending to let all the weirdness in Beacon Hills go. When he returns Scott’s said that he’ll be expecting some answers. 

It should work out fine. They’ll shoot that horse in the face when they get to it.

“Okay, sure. I’ll explain what happened when I get home,” Scott agrees and Stiles kind of regrets not having super hearing now. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Can you drop me and Derek to my place?” Scott asks when Stiles removes the cell from his ear and hangs up for him. 

“Can do, buddy,” Stiles says digging into his pockets for the jeep’s keys.

“If I might try something first?” Deaton asks from the other end of the room.

The clamps he’s holding up are entirely disturbing. 

“Whoa, whoa. Where are you going with that thing?” Stiles demands, hastily darting between Deaton and Derek. 

The clamps have a distinct ugly look to them like they can inflict some serious pain. And well, isn’t that like stabbing a fire poker into an already open wound? Little harsh. Maybe they should hold off on all tools of evil until they actually know what they’re dealing with.

“I might be able to open the slit around his jaw so that his fangs aren’t pushed into the skin as deeply. If this succeeds, he might even be able to ingest food.”

“Do you think it’ll work?” Scott asks, wiggling his fingers a little. 

He doesn’t seem as pained as before so his healing has probably kicked in by now. Small favours.

Deaton kind of shrugs. “It might be worth a try.” 

Stiles knows the best place to be whenever experimental problem solving comes into play- as far away from the blast zone as possible. He’s just settled in behind the protective wall of Scott’s back when Derek starts freaking out again.

“Be the alpha, Scotty,” Stiles whispers, poking him between his shoulder blades.

“Derek,” Scott says, voice supernaturally deeper as his alpha power comes into play. “Don’t move.”

It works, Stiles thinks. At least Derek doesn’t try to run when Deaton starts administering the clamps to the mask. There’s this terrible whine of pain as Deaton applies pressure to the tool so that the force of it can push open the metal slit of his exposed mouth a little further. There’s a groan of shifting metal that can only mean good things before Deaton pulls away with a satisfied sound. 

Derek gingerly open his jaw, licking hesitantly at the bloody maw that is his torn lips. Without the super fast healing, it bleeds freely and the torn flesh actually looks worse without the sharp teeth piercing it.

It’s a lot of the two step forward, one step back, variety. Stiles thinks they might actually be doing more pain than good here.

“The bleeding will stop on its own,” Deaton announces before he strides over to inspect Scott’s fingers. “You can remove them," he decides. "I believe the magic affecting your ability to heal has been neutralised.”

Scott slowly pulls his hands out of the bowl like he thinks his fingers might fall off at any second. It would be comical if Stiles isn’t also thinking the exact same thing. But it’s all good. Nothing too terrible happens. Scott’s hands look as freshly pink as new skin which it most likely is and Stiles tries valiantly not to peer into the bowl to see the remains of old skin floating around there. 

So many levels of sick and wrong. 

“Thanks, Deaton,” Scott says looking at his hands in wonder. 

It’s like he’s never seen them before. Honestly, getting his hands back when a future of not touching his junk had been on the horizon, Stiles can see where he’s coming from. The enthusiasm is very much deserved.

“C’mon, Derek. Let’s get you outta here,” Stiles says, reaching down to get a hand under his armpit to encourage him upwards. 

He goes with the movement pretty easily probably because he’s too distracted licking at his open mouth. It’s still bleeding. Derek’s a horror show right now. “Before something worse happens like you getting hit by a meteorite or something.”

Scott sniggers, but he knows it’s a possibility. Beacon Hills has become the breeding ground for ridiculous happenings ever since they sacrificed themselves to the Nemeton. If anything freaky is going to happen, Stiles can bet it’ll originate in Beacon Hills. Scott takes Derek’s other arm and they lead him back out to the jeep. 

He only trips once. Progress.

“So what are you gonna do with him?” Stiles asks, trying to ignore how warm and comforting the weight of Derek’s arm is across his shoulder. 

That’s the very first thing he shouldn’t be thinking about. Self control, Stiles.

“I dunno. What do I need to do?” Scott wonders sounding worried.

“Clean him for one,” Stiles suggests. “He’s seriously filthy, though I don’t know how-“

“You just want to see him naked,” Scott teases with a smirk. 

And that’s shameless, really. Stiles does not play that dirty. Well, not always. But this is serious.

“Shut up, dude. I’m not that thirsty. I’m just saying for the good of all, Derek needs a serious washing and there won’t be any improvement until you get rid of the jeans that even skunks won't consider touching.”

They help Derek into the back seat and it’s a lot easier to do now that Scott’s hands are functioning again. “Can’t he take off his own pants and get in the shower?”

Stiles rolls his eyes as he starts the engine. “He doesn’t even know his own name, you think he knows how to lather, rinse and repeat?

“So I just hose him down then?”

“Who’s treating him like a dog now?” he counters dryly.

“What else? I take off all his clothes and give him a sponge bath?”

It's very easy to laugh at the image that brings to mind. Derek would absolutely _murder _them. “Please,” Stiles gasps. “Please do.”__

“And why can’t you do it?” Scott argues and he’s sounding petulant now. One might almost think he has a problem sponge bathing his betas. “You want to get closer to his junk than I do.”

“Because Scotty,” Stiles sagely explains like the considerate person he is. “I might appreciate the aesthetics of his junk too much if I see Derek in all his glory and that would be creepy and kinda inappropriate since he’s not a sexual object and is also currently in a relationship, albeit a pretty shitty one all things considered.“

And it has been considered. Let it be known that no cognitive stone has gone unturned. Stiles likes to ponder things, okay. “Did I mention Braeden’s a no go, by the way? She declined to join us as apparently, we can handle this on our own and that kind of action does not a responsible mercenary make. So this falls under the your duty as the alpha category.“

“Braeden’s really not coming?” Scott asks, surprised. “Wow, that’s cold.”

“I know, right? Commitment game is strong, clearly-“

“Derek would be better off dating you?” Scott finishes like the massive jerk he is. 

And that is a low blow. Just cause a man is single doesn’t mean Scott gets to pick on him. And try to imply that he should be dating another non-single friend. There are rules to this.

Stiles punches him in the shoulder which regrettably hurts him more than it hurts Scott. “You’re an ass. How old is Derek anyway like fifty? I mean, does _he _even know?”__

“Don’t be so dramatic, he’s like twentyish,” Scott retorts, waving away Stiles’ argument. “Plus, age didn’t stop you crushing on him before.”

For shame. The betrayal is strong in this one. Stiles never outright admitted to anything but it’s no fair for Scott to use his best friend skills to reveal such secrets. “Oh my- Who even says I had a crush?”

“Dude, you mentioned him almost as much as I talked about…”

Scott’s words abruptly halt as he realises what he was about to say. Oh. Allison. The light hearted bickering abruptly darkens in the abrupt silence. 

“Yeah, because I kept suggesting we kill him,” Stiles says quickly, saving them from what they’re clearly both still avoiding. “You can’t deny how much easier our lives would’ve been if he’d croaked.”

“You weren’t serious, but," Scott insists, grateful for the distraction. "You were just pig tail pulling, or whatever.”

“I was totally serious,” Stiles cries, outraged. “I literally wanted him dead, dude. Nothing romantic about that.”

“Yeah, but you were still like _into _him.”__

And if that doesn’t make him sound like a complicated guy, Stiles isn’t sure anything will. What is it with Scott dropping all these truth bombs today? 

“God, why are we even having this conversation? Just get Derek out of his jeans, wipe him down with a wet cloth and pray he’s not going commando.”

Scott groans in reluctance and equal fear of the prospect of a commando Derek. Stiles will admit they have differing opinions on that topic. “You suck so much right now.”

“I could suck more,” Stiles says waggling his eyebrows. 

Sex jokes are always a surefire way to change the subject.

Scott cracks up laughing.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He’s not laughing twenty minutes later when Stiles leaves him to Derek clean up duty. Stiles most definitely blows a kiss in Scott’s direction as he waltzes away. Just to be an ass. 

When he finally pulls into his driveway, his dad is already home so he just parks behind the police cruiser with a frustrated sigh. His dad’s been home a lot lately since the recent discovery of how psychologically unwell his son is. 

Stiles understands he means well but there’s really nothing he can do. 

It’s a traumatising and vaguely life altering something that he needs to work through on his own. Stiles knows that for certain. This cannot be fixed by various degrees of teamwork and cooperation. Besides years of undeniable evidence have proven that Stiles doesn’t work too well in groups when it comes to expressing heartfelt emotions. 

He is a solo player. 

As he walks inside the house, he can already smell the aroma of tomato sauce that says dinner’s been cooked. The Sheriff has kind of started taking over Stiles’ role as caregiver in the house since he’s been home so often. Now Stiles is out of a job. He’s not too bad. Only some of the meals he makes are questionable in the high cholesterol count. Some sacrifices have to be made. 

“Hey, Dad,” Stiles greets as he hangs his keys onto the hook in the hallway before making his way into the kitchen. 

His dad is still in uniform so he must’ve only just left the station. Is he racing to beat Stiles home now? It’s still pretty strange not coming home to an empty house. It might take some getting used to. 

The first time it happened, Stiles had thought his dad was a burglar. Or yet another supernatural thing out to eat him. And that’s probably not a great sign. 

“Grub’s already on the table,” his dad says filling up a glass of water in the sink. He follows Stiles into the dining room and takes the chair opposite him. “How was your day?” 

“Pretty weird, actually," he admits as he digs in. "We found Derek.” 

“You did?” he asks and is it Stiles' imagination or does his father sound extremely pleased about that? Have he and Derek been bonding behind Stiles’ back? “You didn’t go all the way to Oregon, did you?” 

Cue disapproving parent tone. He's never going to let the Mexico trip slide is he? 

Stiles chews a bit before he can assuage his suspicions. “No. Those hunters sold Derek to a Circus.” 

“A Circus?” he echoes faintly because even he can understand the ridiculousness of said previous statement. 

Stiles feels for him, he does. 

“A Freak Circus,” he clarifies. “It set up camp in Beacon Hills yesterday. Scott and I went in to get him about an hour ago.” 

His father pauses in the middle of the pasta he’s about to eat and frowns. “Why didn’t you call me? It might have been dangerous. I could have sent over some uniforms.” 

“If they’d seen you coming, they might’ve taken Derek before we arrived. Actually,” Stiles says brightening. “You could still send uniforms cause they must’ve broken half a dozen laws. At the very least, they’ve accrued some hefty health and safety violations. You might be able to shut them down.” 

Sheriff knows exactly how much the Stilinski’s are against Circuses with a penchant for animal cruelty. They are quite passionate on the subject. “I’d love to, but won’t they have some fairly unexplainable supernatural happenings in there?” 

Damn, he’s right. Talk about the supernatural underground meeting the bright light of the human masses. There are some things they might not be able to rationally explain. The troll is definitely one of them. 

“They did have a werewolf Derek chained up in a cage,” Stiles agrees, thinking it over. “You could send Parrish?” 

That’ll work. And since Parrish is more or less clued in lately, he won’t freak out too much at any potential weirdness. The troll might give him a reason to reassess his life choices but. Oh, well. He’ll deal. Considering he’s been a pretty constant presence in Lydia’s universe and still exists to talk about it, he must be tough. 

Stiles suspects they might be dating. Or that Parrish might be interested in going steady if Lydia’s offering the letterman jacket. He’s emphatically in awe of Lydia that's for sure. And basically all of the amazing things she does. Though, to be fair, what sane person isn’t? 

It's funny how non-operational his fifteen year plan to earn Lydia's love is nowadays. If he had the energy, he might feel a little bad about that. But since they've become such good friends it's hardly as big a loss as his younger self imagined. At least, he's still involved in the sphere of Lydia's existence. That's way more than he would've anticipated. 

Supernatural stuff will do that to you. 

His father deliberates over the next bite as he chews. “Parrish doesn’t even know what he is. He might get hurt.” 

Stiles has to resist rolling his eyes because of course his dad always has everyone’s best interests at heart. He loves that about him, sure, but sometimes caring too much can screw up the game plan. Concessions need to be made. Stiles is happily of the leave-one-man-behind-if-that-man-has-no-further-value mentality. 

What? It’s called being pragmatic. Especially, if they’re going to shut down this animal torture house. “Parrish survived being lit _on fire _Dad,” he points out. “I think he can handle a troll.”__

“A troll?” his father demands, horrified, and why didn’t he keep his mouth shut about the troll business? That’ll definitely hurt his chances of animal justice now. He’s sure Derek isn’t the only supernatural being they locked up in there. There’s a certain Yeti vibe that he feels could amount to a possible cage neighbour. 

What? The Circus had a distinctive smell, okay? 

“Not like a big one,” he promises. “Only about six footish.” 

Stiles quickly forks a mouthful of pasta past his lips to avoid the round of questions he predicts that statement will unleash. He is not wrong. He’s saved from explaining what other manner of beasts exist in reality that the Sheriff doesn’t know about when his phone buzzes. 

It’s a message from Scott. 

_What did u text Kira? She thinks u got laid and I got beat up by a pimp saving Derek? :/ An that pimp is Iron man? She’s freaking out. Dude what? ___

Stiles did not expect a misunderstanding this beautiful to arise but he welcomes the mistake with open arms and laughs so hard that his dad gives him a weird look. Goodness, Kira is a magical human being. She’s almost as awkwardly introverted as Stiles is uncomfortably extroverted. Mainly because, he makes other people uncomfortable with his awkward conversation topics. 

It’s great. They’ll be awesome at parties together. Stiles feels it in his bones. 

It takes a moment of recovery before he’s able to text a reply. 

_Sry. Big misunderstanding. Dnt think she can read Stiles speak. My bad. ___

His phone chimes a second later. 

_She’s cming over coz she thinks I got pimp disease or smthing. An I washed D but now he won’t put pants on. Stilessssssssss. U suck ___

Stiles chokes on his next bite and nearly spits half of it across the table. Sweet lord, this is amazing. This needs to be documented. Forever. His dad snatches his cell out of his hand before he can fumble out a hilarious reply though. Because Derek without pants? Priceless comedic material for life. 

“Hey!” he protests and makes a half hearted grab for it. 

“No cells at the dinner table,” his father retorts as he pockets Stiles’ cell phone. “I’d rather you didn’t choke to death.” 

Okay, that’s pretty reasonable. Stiles can get on board with that. Family bonding and all. 

“So what happened to Derek?” he wonders. “Is he alright? Did they mistreat him?” 

If they're being accurate he's probably better off asking how they _didn't _mistreat him. In which Stiles' answer could only be Derek didn't end up dying.__

__“If you classify locking a great metal cage around his head that magically keeps him stuck as a werewolf doomed to lose his humanity if he remains like that for longer than the next new moon, then yes.”_ _

The Sheriff whistles low as he rubs forcefully at his chin. “My God. How do these things keep happening to that poor kid?” 

Stiles just lifts his hands to the sky in helpless inquiry. Because right? He sees the pattern too, doesn’t he? Derek’s life is just unfair. 

“I know right? Safe to say the universe is metaphorically shitting on him.” 

“Language, Stiles,” he scolds. “But yes. It certainly seems like it. Anything I can do to help?” 

Hardly. It’s not like he can shoot the mask off Derek’s face. Hmm or could that work? No probably not. Best keep his dad out of it. “I don’t think so? We’re just holing him up at Scott’s until Deaton figures out how to get it off.” 

“Can he? From the sounds of it, it’s probably welded shut. Tricky to remove it without killing him.” 

Stiles refuses to think about that for more than a horrifying second. Not a nice way to shuffle off the mortal coil. 0/10 would not recommend. 

“Deaton thinks he can figure it out.” 

“Here’s hoping.” 

And ain’t that the watchword. 

  
  
  


  
  


  
  


Stiles finishes up with the last dish and pulls out the stopper in the sink to drain the murky soap water while his dad finishes up the drying. It’s getting late. There's still school tomorrow and Stiles has a Calculus test he is in no way prepared for but is looking forward to winging. 

There’s some college applications he should be finishing off too but left sprawled across his desk instead in the true spirit of procrastination. 

At most he wants to go to sleep. At worst he knows he can’t. Since the nightmares quickly discourage any ideas of a full REM sleep cycle. Can’t hurt for trying though. Stiles is a stubborn soul. 

“I’m gonna head to bed,” he announces around a yawn as he dries his hands. 

The Sheriff stills at the mention of sleep before casually resuming drying the bowl in his grip. He is the true champion master of subtlety. “How are you sleeping lately?” he gently inquires like he doesn’t already intimately know the details of that answer. 

Waking up every night definitely has given him a hands on role in the horror production that is Stiles’ sleeping patterns. 

“I- alright I guess,” Stiles replies slowly, thinking how best not to make him worry. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.” 

And he knows it sounds bad. Stiles can probably give Lydia a run for her money in the screaming department and she’s a freaking banshee. His dad shakes his head a little as he stows the dish away in the cupboard. 

“You always were a terrible liar,” he muses. 

And Stiles totally resents that. There is multiple evidence of how untrue that statement is. 

“I literally kept the secret of werewolves from you for like two years, didn’t I?” 

His father only rolls his eyes. “And by show of hands who here in this room knows about werewolves?” 

Now he’s just being mean. 

“I’m just saying. You’re not as good as you think, kiddo,” he continues. “And I know the dreams are-“ 

“No. You don’t know, Dad,” Stiles cuts him off. “First of all they’re not dreams, okay? They’re nightmares. Living nightmares. Half of the time I don’t even know if I’m _awake_ anymore. And they’re not going away anytime soon so I have to deal with it. There’s nothing you can do. So when I say it’s alright can you at least let me live in denial that it’s not freaking you out as much as it is me? Cause that would be great.” 

“Sure, I can do that,” he agrees, totally placating. “I just want you to know that I’m here. You may not think I can help you but I can. I can try.” 

“Yeah okay, Dad. Sure.” 

He lets his father hug him because he’s too tired to argue this any further. They’re just going around in circles, anyway. 

The aftermath of being possessed that one time and sacrificing himself to a goddamn tree really sucks. But on the plus side, the very proof that all of it was worth it is hugging the hell out of him right now, so did he really lose here? Stiles would do the exact same thing again without blinking. 

So whatever, he’s dealing. His dad hands back his cell phone before he goes and he types out a quick reply to Scott, promising to see him before homeroom tomorrow and heads upstairs. Stiles climbs the staircase up to the bathroom, already tugging off his shirt and looking forward to some seriously cleansing hot water. 

He dumps his cell on the bathroom counter before he turns to lock the door. Stiles tugs off his jeans, then boxers, shivering a little as he steps into the shower. The hot water is a godsend and he just stands there uselessly for a few minutes not even bothering to start attempting to clean himself yet. He’ll get to that part later. 

Now he just wants to stand around. Maybe wallow a little. Whatever works. 

The strain in his shoulders loosens a little under the heat and he can feel himself relaxing but knows of a surefire way to speed up the process. He tugs a little aimlessly at his dick for a few minutes, getting lost in the sensation but gives up when nothing much happens. 

Great. Now his dick’s being unhelpful as well. Which, not true, because it was very present earlier in the evening as he was half wrapped around Derek. He was at semi chub at least. All dressed up with nowhere to go. But now. The opposite. Irony. 

This is not the time to be dick shy. Stiles sighs mournfully, because of course this stupid fucking Nemeton won’t even allow him to jerk it anymore and he quickly cleans himself up and gets out. He wanders into his room wrapped up in a towel, dries his skin and just haphazardly throws on a pair of boxers. 

Since all the nightmaring there has been an excessive amount of fear sweating happening in Stiles’ bed. Safe to say it’s an experience he does not enjoy so he’s reverted back to sleeping shirtless. 

It sucks when the nights are still cold but makes things a lot easier when he’s just thrashing around in his sheets and not in clothes that half strangle him. 

Stiles has also been trying a lot of stuff lately to heal his soul and all that. Mostly because he’s a firm believer in the art of problem solving and enjoys obsessively focusing on specific tasks. Like winning Lydia’s love which to be fair is pretty much the only thing he’s ever given up on. And he didn't so much as give up as direct his attention elsewhere. 

To other unavailable individuals. He does not enjoy the pattern there. 

But otherwise his track record is great. Last week he tried tea as a way to get him to sleep calmer. And not only did it taste pretty awful, it failed miserably. Now he’s onto music soothing him before falling asleep. He’s only tried it twice and the results were mixed so Stiles figures further study will be needed to conclude if it’s possibly going to help him stay awake in Economics again. 

Time will tell. 

Stiles pulls out his iPod and selects his BREATHE, DON’T DIE playlist which is a pretty basic mixture of general folk sound, full of a little Agnes Obel, Sufjan Stevens, Azure Ray, José González and the like. Basically, all the usual calming players. 

Sleep will become his bitch. Possibly. If he’s lucky. 

It’s easy to fall asleep these days. Mostly because he’s running on fumes and zero energy and staying still for too long basically reduces him to unconsciousness. So he’s out in a few minutes. Falling asleep with the earbuds still in however, is not entirely planned. But neither is the nightmare that wakes him up screaming a few hours later. 

This one is entirely Allison themed; gaping wound in her chest, eyes wide in death as the tree roots drag her slowly beneath the loose soil. Stiles is trapped in the roots as well, unable to free himself to get to her. He can't do anything but watch. Nothing but the classics from here on out. 

After he’s done counting fingers, Stiles rolls out of bed, sticking grossly to the sheets as he opens his bedroom window a little to allow a fresh breeze to roll in. He doesn’t think about the dream. It’s still too fresh in his mind. 

Instead he gets an idea and goes to his desk to find an empty notebook. There’s one underneath the college pile and he opens it up as quietly as he can. Though his dad is probably already awake by now. He checks the time on his phone before he records when he woke up and roughly estimates the time he fell asleep measuring how much sleep overall. 

He figures it's about two hours. Which is about the average most nights and he hastily scrawls the details of the dream down next to it. Maybe if he starts recording all of this a pattern might emerge. Something he can understand. 

It’s a far stretch, but definitely a cathartic effort. 

His heart isn’t pumping as madly in his chest when he finally finishes and drags himself back to bed again. He riffles through the mess of sheets, locates his iPod and tangled earbud cords twisted around it and climbs back into bed. 

He’s not entirely sure but he thinks the music helped a little. It’s certainly a lot easier to understand it’s a dream when he can hear Dallas Green singing about how he’s afraid to sleep because of what haunts him in the back of his subconscious. 

Stiles can definitely relate to that. 

He flops back onto the bed and sticks his headphones in trying to find a spot that’s not completely drenched in fear sweat. He’ll have to shower quickly in the morning before school. It’s uncultured, but manageable. He lies there and tries to focus on his breathing for a little while to calm any racing thoughts. By the time that’s done and he’s properly settled in, Stiles allows himself to close his eyes. 

Time for round two.  


The night’s just getting started.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


By the time Stiles is showered and stumbling out the front door the next morning, he’s moving like the living dead. 

He woke up six times last night which is about the usual sum but this time in at least half of them he didn’t wake up screaming bloody murder. The music is somehow centring his thoughts in a way he wouldn't have guessed. It’s a lot less alarming to wonder if he’s dreaming when the sounds of gentle folk tunes bring him softly into himself rather than the usual highly alarming and painful jerk of terror back into consciousness. 

It’s barely anything in the ways of progress but it’s _something _. And it's enough to put him in a super benevolent mood as he drives on over to school. Stiles thinks falling asleep with earbuds in is an absolute go from here on out. He and Scott get into the parking lot around the same time, so he parks next to his bike and salutes a greeting before climbing out of the jeep.__

“Hey dude,” he greets. “Derek got pants yet?” 

Scott looks a little haggard but otherwise untraumatised. “Don’t even ask man. I couldn’t even get out the front door this morning cause apparently being the alpha means he follows me everywhere.” 

“You love it, Scotty,” Stiles retorts. “Your inner leader is preening at all this responsibility.” 

“Yeah, well responsibility can suck it if it means I have to force pants onto half naked dudes.” 

“Was it beautiful? It sounds like a beautiful moment you shared.” 

“Stop enjoying this so much,” Scott grumbles shoving him through the main doors with more force than required to operate Stiles’ machinery. 

Alright he kind of was asking for that. But it's so hilarious Stiles can't resist. 

“I will when it stops being so enjoyable. Until then, afraid I can’t. Not in my nature, dude. Oh and my dad’s sending round some deputies to shut down the Circus today so that problem’s solved itself. We are just on fire this week.” 

“Awesome. All we need to do now is get that stupid helmet off Derek’s head.” 

Stiles cannot agree more with that assessment. He has no idea how they plan on doing that without Deaton’s help but still. Future plans and all. 

“So you found Derek?” Lydia butts in, appearing at Stiles’ side with an expectant look. 

Which is pretty impressive. Stiles likes to believe he's the observant sort. Most of the time anyway. She's really taking her supernatural role to a higher playing field. 

“Did your banshee powers tell you?” Stiles asks eagerly forever interested in the untapped potential of her power that they all have no idea how to access. 

If only these things came with detailed pamphlets. To include how to banshee, how to werewolf and probably how to kitsune as well. Everyone would be set for life. After living in the woods most of her life Stiles figures Malia can skip the how to were-coyote pamphlet. She probably knows enough to fill a book already. 

Lydia raises an eyebrow. “Scott texted me last night. Is Derek okay?” 

Scott shrugs and they follow him to his locker, hovering at his back while he twists through his combination. “He seems fine but we still need to remove the cursed mask before he loses his humanity.” 

“Why would hunters even do that?” Lydia asks as Scott opens the locker door and starts tugging books out. “Just to have an excuse to kill him for going rogue?” 

“Are we even sure it was the hunters though?” Stiles argues. “It’s a lot of effort for just one measly werewolf. Deaton said it was old magic locking the mask on Derek’s face. Maybe he went somewhere else before the Circus bought him. Somewhere evil.” 

Decidedly evil based on what Scott’s hands had looked like last night. The warning bell rings before he can really get into speculating any further. 

“Meet us at lunch,” Lydia commands. “We’ll talk more.” 

Stiles is sure who the collective ‘us’ belongs to. 

Malia. His ex. Maybe also friend. Baby steps. Then Lydia stalks away and Stiles gets to enjoy watching the crowd part for her. Mostly out of fear. It’s great to witness. Stiles turns back to Scott with a waggling eyebrow. 

“So?” 

Scott squints at him with open suspicion. “So what?” 

“Did you sort things out with Kira or does she still think you have pimp hands?” 

Scott just rolls his eyes at Stiles’ gleeful expression. “No. She thought Iron Man was a pimp that beat me up because you got the D.” 

Stiles’ cackle is loud enough to turn multiple heads. It’s a proud moment to be sure. 

“Why do you even text like you’re drunk anyway?” Scott grumbles. “If I wasn’t already used to it so many misunderstandings might have happened already.” 

“I’m a unique snowflake, Scott. That is what you appreciate about me.” 

Scott grins. “Sure, let’s go with that.” 

“You study for the Calc test?” 

Scott nods as he slams his locker closed and they head toward homeroom. “Yeah. Except Derek kept tearing up my notes.” 

And of course Scott is more prepared than he is. He’s been studying like hell lately. It’s about time the young grasshopper surpassed the slightly more irritating grasshopper. 

Circle of life.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Stiles gives it a shot but he most likely tanks the exam. Nothing to be done about that. The day passes sluggish and uneventful but Stiles is still riding the high of a possible breakthrough in his sleep patterns that it doesn’t bother him too much. 

Lunch with Malia is cool. No bloodshed, but that’s mostly because they’re surrounded by other people and they act as a good buffer to potential violence. They’re all trying to guess what happened to Derek which is oddly entertaining at the expense of his manpain. Stiles might even go as far as to hint he might actually be having a good time. 

That is until his dad calls his cell phone in the middle of the cafeteria. For a second paralysing fear sets in before his brain catches up with the situation. If something had happened to his dad they wouldn’t have called Stiles on his father’s cell phone. A deputy would have shown up. 

Stiles nearly strangles himself when one of the new deputies comes strolling into the cafeteria and makes a beeline for him. Scott shoots him a look because he knows exactly what that means and is sharing the equal degree of alarm with him. He fumbles to answer the call, heart in his throat and hovering in the questioning verge of a panic attack. 

“Oh God… hello?” 

“Stiles?” 

It’s his dad. Thank every individual power that be. “Dad? What’s going on?” 

“There’s a bit of a situation,” he hurries to explain. “People calling in seeing a half naked guy in a Halloween mask on Academy Drive.” 

That’s the road that leads straight to Beacon Hills High School. Oh no. 

“Crap.” 

“Parrish is out on a house call and I couldn’t get him there in time so one of the new deputies is on the way. You need to get Derek before-“ 

“Too late,” Stiles mutters. “I’m looking at the deputy now.” 

Scott who’s listening to the entire conversation with open mouthed dread manages to smile and wave at the approaching deputy. Stiles frowns at the guy, pointing at his cell phone with an apologetic expression and the deputy just shrugs and strides right on past. 

“Damn. Sorry. Just do whatever you can.” 

“Will do.” 

Stiles hangs up and turns to Scott. “As I’m sure you know your dog followed you to school today.” 

“Derek escaped?” Kira whispers, eyes wide. 

Malia looks pretty disinterested in the proceedings and is carving symbols into the table with her claws. 

“Now is not the time for dog jokes, man. C’mon let’s go.” 

Lydia is frowning. “Go though E hall. Less teachers patrol there.” 

Stiles nods and they try to casually head for the main doors with a degree of nonchalance that might speak of their innocence. It sort of works. No one really pays that much attention to them. That is until they reach the east hallway and Mr Yukimura is bearing down on them like a freight train. 

“Scott, Stiles. Where are you are going?” 

Scott flounders a little but that’s alright. Stiles’ has got this. “It's an emergency?" he ventures because Kira's dad is pretty indirectly involved in their level of weird. 

He can probably relate. 

Mr Yukimura's forehead wrinkles for a moment before he glances up and down the hallway and jerks his head subtly towards the exit. Seems like a yes, as far as Stiles is concerned. Scott thanks him profusely as Stiles heads for freedom without any further encouragement. 

Thunderbirds are go.

“How the hell did Derek even get out?” Stiles demands as they hurry outside and sneak over to his jeep. 

“I don’t know!” Scott protests, clambering into the passenger seat next to him. 

“My money’s on a broken window,” Stiles speculates. 

He's always about the dramatic exit. And entrance. Mostly everything Derek does is dramatic. No wonder he loses battles so much. 

“Why do you think he’s following me?” Scott wonders sounding a little miserable. 

Pretty sure Derek’s got it worse at the moment. “I don’t know maybe because he’s thinking like a wolf and can’t really see out of his Iron Mask, probably can’t here that well either and his alpha keeps ditching him? Understandable he’s a tad confused.” 

Luckily it’s pretty simple to locate Derek. 

He’s not exactly blending in with the chunky head accessory. Stiles pulls off onto the side of the road when they spot him and prays the approaching vehicle doesn’t spook him enough to take off into the woods. Then it’ll take them forever to find him. 

Derek pauses in front of the Jeep and cocks his metal head to the side as if he’s calculating how easy it would be to kill them. Stiles thinks difficulty levels might be potentially high when factoring in the fact that he can’t even see. Mostly. 

Stiles waves Scott on to encourage him to go capture him. 

“Go on. Be the alpha.” 

Scott scowls at him but opens his door to jump out. “Stop using that as a tactic for me doing all the hard work.” 

“I would but this is much more satisfying.” 

Scott hesitantly approaches Derek whose claws still look as mean and sharp as they did yesterday. His wounds have started scabbing over since Deaton had a go at them which means his mouth is no longer bleeding copious volumes. That was probably the freakiest sight. But since he’s more or less clean he doesn’t look like the creature of nightmares he did earlier and Stiles feels good that they made it happen. 

It's pretty inspiring. 

He might even pass off as a law-abiding citizen if not for the Darth Vader mask. Stiles really wants to free him. He’s starting to miss the constant disapproval and potential homicide frown. And the rest of his stupidly attractive face. Without it, Stiles’ expression of preordained insolence and self-assurance is wasted. 

He can hardly be a cocky shit if Derek’s not around to get pissed off about it and act like a dick to even the score. 

Clearly a friendship based on mutual trust and respect. 

Scott frantically beckons him forward which either means it’s safe or he’s just really fed up with Stiles delegating tasks under the guise of ‘alpha business’ and plans on letting Derek slash him to pieces. Since Scott is pretty much the epitome of inner goodness and light, who loves Stiles like a brother, it’s probably the former. 

“He’s not settling down,” Scott explains when Stiles ventures out of the safety of his Jeep. “Can you do that touch thing again?” 

The touch thing makes it sound dirty. Like he’s a creepy Peter doling out the bad touch on unsuspecting teenagers. Bad wrong. 

“Or I could just show you?” 

Scott can see the plan brewing a mile away and narrows his eyes. “Why so you can classify it under ‘alpha business’ and have me do it? Just seriously Stiles, help me out here.” 

Unfortunately Scott knows exactly what’s up. Stiles sheepishly approaches Derek’s side and begins the Tellington TTouch process all over again. If it were a competition his fingers could go for the pro circuit of touching people. 

He starts from Derek’s neck because it’s so tense that Stiles can see the veins sticking out and begins rubbing the clockwise circles with his fingers. It’s pretty embarrassing that he enjoys doing it as much as Derek clearly likes receiving it. He flushes when Derek lets out this little whimper and basically melts into a puddle of helpless goo. 

Is it bad that to him it’s more or less a sex sound? If he were of course to waste time imagining what kind of noises Derek makes in the throes of passion. Which he doesn’t. Obviously. 

“Watch what I’m doing,” Stiles suggests as he works. “In case he needs to calm down when I’m not around.” 

Scott moves in closer and inspects the process with undeniable interest. He’s about a second away from sniffing their emotional states Stiles is sure. He is also sure that following his reaction to the Derek sex noise that Scott _really _doesn’t want to do that. For his sanity.__

__“Look, I know the dog comments are getting tired but maybe this is one of those simplistic pet problems,” Stiles proposes. “I mean, did you feed him?”_ _

Scott just huffs out an offended sound. “Yeah, I fed him. He’s not a goldfish, dude.” 

“No. He’s just a basically comatose human being with claws. So maybe he’s thirsty then?” 

Scott seems to sense when Derek has reached optimum levels of calm because he takes his arm and starts leading him back to the jeep. “I gave him water too. It’s probably just a pack thing. He doesn’t want to be alone. Pack is safety.” 

“What do we do then? What’s the point of taking him back to your place if he’s just going to break out again and terrify more of Beacon Hills' taxpayers?” 

Dilemma is strong with this one. They can hardly tie Derek up. Then they’re as bad as the assholes they rescued him from. The cycle of abuse continues. Not that it’s not a viable method to consider if worse comes to worst. Stiles has done it before. With mixed results seeing as Scott escaped at the time but still. It can happen if need be. 

“I’ll just skip today then we’ll work it out from there.” 

Which, no. That is not going to fly. Stiles knows how much Scott’s been bragging about the study he’s doing lately. He shouldn’t miss any classes if he can manage it. 

“Don’t you have another exam today?” Stiles asks. “I’ll do it. It’s not like I’ve been awake for classes lately anyway.” 

Scott struggles with the idea of letting Stiles take the responsibility. Which is noble and all. Sweet even, but it’s not going to get the job done. 

For all his joking, Scott does prefer to do the ‘alpha business’ stuff cause if there’s a fallout he’ll shoulder the consequences. He clearly needs to learn how to delegate to the degree that Stiles does on a regular basis. Maybe stop being so noble and self-sacrificing while he's at it. At least not all of the time. 

“You sure? I mean, I know you’d love nothing more than to be Derek’s nurse but-” 

“Oh, ha ha. Werewolf’s got jokes. Don’t make me neuter you, man. It’s all good. I got this.” 

They encourage Derek into the back seat and Stiles makes a u-turn back up to the school to drop Scott off. He idles the jeep around the corner in case the truancy officer spots them and Scott climbs out with a quick grin before darting off towards the main building. 

Stiles turns the jeep around and drives off towards Scott’s place. 

“Looks like it’s just you and me, buddy,” he offers conversationally to the silence. He’s all for polite exchange even with non-responsive persons. “This’ll be interesting. How did you even get this far when you can barely see out of the mask of doom? It’s impressive, dude. Props.” 

He wonders how badly damaged Scott’s house will be but when he pulls into the driveway everything looks normal. 

Everything looks decidedly less normal when he leads Derek into the house, unlocking the door with his spare key and heading through the entryway. 

The living room window basically has a Derek shaped hole in it. Stiles gaps a little before he recovers his sense of practicality and heads to the kitchen to find a broom to sweep up the stray glass. He’s so distracted that he forgets about Derek for the moment when his hands close around the broom handle. He takes a step back and hits a wall of warm, living muscle with a startled oof. 

Right. Derek. Who likes to follow people around. Like a dog Stiles’ brain helpfully supplies against his wishes. He can hardly resist making these references if Derek makes it so very easy not to. Stiles extracts himself out of Derek’s space before patiently leading him back into the living room. He notices as he goes that Derek’s hands aren’t clenched into fists. 

They’re open. Almost invitingly. 

Is he trying for hand holding again? Does a werewolf even know about that kind of stuff? 

Stiles shakes off his overly romantic confusion and pushes Derek by his shoulders to sit him down onto the couch. It’s amazing how trusting the guy is when he lets Stiles do it without protest. Usually, it’s Derek doing all the pushing around. Switching up the roles is something Stiles will happily forgo in exchange for getting normal Derek back. 

He watches carefully from the corner of his eye, just in case he moves again and starts sweeping evidence of Derek's earlier crime into one pile. Melissa is going to be pissed when she gets home. 

There’s not much else to do after he throws the shards into the trash. He takes a seat next to Derek but on the opposite end of the couch because he does understand boundaries and lets out a heavy sigh. 

“How do I even know if you’re hungry?” Stiles wonders aloud to no one in particular. “And Scott didn’t mention if you can take bathroom breaks on your own. Jesus this is so wrong.” 

Derek doesn’t say anything but digs his claws into Scott’s couch with a degree of fascination that is concerning. What did the couch ever do to him? He starts pushing them in and out and Stiles is oddly reminded of that thing that cats do when they use their paws to search for vital organs. But Derek’s not a cat. So what is he even doing? Stiles figures whatever happens Derek will probably let him know if there are any issues. 

In the meantime he rests his head on his chin and thinks about pretty much anything and everything. He blinks heavily around his thoughts and listens to the silence. 

Stiles doesn’t know how quickly he slips into the dream. Only that suddenly he’s dreaming. There are roots again except they’ve got his dad, wrapping tight around him like a snake and squeezing. Stiles is struggling and fighting to free himself when the roots push down his father’s throat, into every inch of his skin. 

The last thing he sees is his father’s silent scream of agony before the roots burst out of his open eyelids. 

Stiles jerks awake with a yell, cursing at the apparition hovering over his bed as he rolls free. When he hits Scott’s carpet and feels the warm hand curled around his wrist he realises the monster is just metal head Derek. Probably sniffing out his fear. 

He’s too disoriented to struggle when Derek tugs him close and into his naked chest. Stiles is only half allowing the comfort because of consent issues and a beta who’s never displayed interest in hugging it out before. When Derek tries to sniff him and ends up headbutting the edge of Stiles’ skull with his metal prison instead, Stiles figures the flash of pain is much more familiar. And deserving. 

It’s such a glancing blow that the pain is only physical. Not magical. Not a potential magical device warding off any interference with its spell. Like say making hands blister before they fall off. 

Stiles manoeuvres himself free and notes how quick his nightmare recovery time is. He’s not even breathing fast anymore. Stiles tugs out the notebook from his backpack and jots down all of the information while it’s fresh in his mind. Weird though. As classifications go nightmares about his dad are usually followed by some of his worst panic attacks. 

The non-reaction is a bit of an anomaly and the only obvious differing variable is Derek. Stiles refuses to think about that in any exploratory terms. The tension is already leaking out of him as he rubs distractedly at his arm. 

Except wait he’s still writing in the notebook and using _both _hands. Stiles stares in astonishment as Derek carefully presses a clockwise circle into his skin.__

__Is he Tellington TTouching Stiles right now? Or is it the revenge spiral all over again? No he’s definitely mimicking Stiles’ touches from earlier. A little less gracefully since he has claws to contend with but still. Does werewolf Derek understand what he’s doing? Could his human parts be struggling to break free or something? What is even happening right now._ _

Stiles pats Derek’s shoulder gratefully and puts some space between them as he finishes up with his notes. He stashes the book back into his backpack and turns back to stare at Derek. 

“Derek?” he wonders a little hesitantly because he’s going out on a limb here. “Are you in there?” 

The Iron Mask turns like Derek is listening but there’s no reply so he still doesn’t understand. But maybe Stiles can make him? Not in an evil dictator super controlling way. But if Derek can be taught how to Tellington TTouch… 

Maybe he can be taught to be human again? At least while he’s got some humanity left. 

But first things first. Stiles really wants to touch Derek’s Iron Mask. Maybe it’s like the cage and the effect for humans won’t be as bad? There might be a hidden cache that could reveal the way to break the curse. Either way. He’s gotta find out. 

Derek is still in the same spot, kneeling on the floor after he followed Stiles’ commando roll of freedom. 

“Okay buddy,” Stiles says, slowly approaching the werewolf. “I need you to stay really still right now while I do something stupid. Think you can handle that?” 

Derek agrees in as much as he doesn’t respond to the question and Stiles feels hopeful when he makes no effort to move. Then Stiles stretches his hands out and slowly brings them down onto the metal of Derek’s mask. His hands remain attached which is awesome and there’s no immediate blinding pain that Scott had the pleasure of experiencing. There is this weird buzzing in his ears though, but Stiles doesn’t pull away just yet. 

More weird things might happen. 

“Your life sucks. Growl once for yes and twice for yes,” Stiles jokes as his fingers probe the metal, searching for weak points. 

Derek growls. 

Stiles is so surprised that he yanks his hands away and stumbles back. 

“Holy shit!” he cries. “Derek, did you just understand me?” 

When another minute passes and nothing else happens, Stiles sighs and drops back onto the couch again in disappointment. Stupid coincidences. Derek’s mask of reigning terror is still within reach so Stiles trails his fingers over it and tries to inspect for weaknesses. 

“You know I don’t get you,” Stiles continues apropos of nothing. “Like no offence to your entire being or anything but how are you even alive? You’ve had the absolute shittiest slew of traumatic experiences. I mean, you accidentally kill your first girlfriend and then your second girlfriend is a psycho who burns down your house and kills nearly your whole family. Like what even?” 

Derek doesn’t have much to say on the subject so Stiles forges on. “Then you and Laura try leave this all behind you and you still somehow get dragged back after she dies because your uncle kills her. The same uncle who basically tricked you into trying to give your first girlfriend the bite. Then you end up trapped in a hunter vs. werewolf war over some new werewolf who wants to date the niece of your evil ex girlfriend. Who has an annoyingly inquisitive best friend that makes you want to commit murder.” 

Now that he’s on the highlight reel Stiles can't help but keep going. It’s like an itch he has to scratch. Because _how _Derek? Seriously.__

__“You get stabbed a lot, nearly die a couple times before you kill Peter. And as if that’s not worse, he comes back from the dead, starts stirring shit after you start biting kids left and right to build up an army to fight a war with alphas that you ultimately lose.“_ _

“You get another sister back but then she nearly dies and you lose your alpha power before she ditches you for South America. It is South America right? I mean, I don’t even know anymore.” 

Stiles pauses a little in his inspection, thinking a particular distinct bump on the metal might reveal something but it’s basically just a dent. Probably created by Derek’s thick head. 

“Then you date another evil girlfriend who tries to sacrifice all of the friends you might have begrudgingly made in us and then she dies before you finally settle down with a gun toting mercenary.” 

Saying it out loud somehow makes it sound less real. Like how is this an accurate depiction of someone’s life? “You’ve been shot, stabbed, impaled, shot again, turned back into a teenager and God knows what else. And then somehow out of all of it you figure out how to make a full werewolf shift and progress as a human being? Like how?” 

Derek is so quiet he may as well be dead. Is he even breathing at the moment? Stiles is so riled up he even knocks on the metal. 

“Anyone home in there? Cause I would like to know how you are still functioning seeing that to top it all off you now have a huge cage on your head which is slowly turning you into an animal. Permanently.” 

Derek’s claws dig into the flesh of his jeans, deep enough to pierce his skin and one of Stiles’ hands slides off the metal and rubs another circle into his neck. “Hey, don’t do that,” he chides. “The universe is trying to beat you up enough. You don’t need to help.” 

The circle seems comforting because Derek pulls his claws out. Stiles happily resumes exploration of the metal cage mainly because he’s growing to enjoy playing with an inanimate object that houses Derek’s brain. The metal feels kind of weird under his fingertips and the buzzing in his ears has kind of transformed into tingling pulses in his fingers. It feels kind of good though so he doesn’t pull his away. 

“You know when my mom died it killed me. I actually don’t remember what that kind of happy used to feel like. There’s just this hole where she used to be. And all the memories. I mean, in the grand scheme of things yeah, it’s awful walking around with a hole in your chest but you’ve gotta be riddled with them.” 

He absentmindedly rubs another circle into Derek’s skin, letting his other hand rest on the top of the mask. The tingling is sort of energising. Stiles is feeling a little wired. “It’s like that thing. You know, someone’s always got it worse than you? Well, you my friend, beat me hands down.” 

Derek leans a little into the touch so Stiles keeps going. “When you get free of this you should go on a vacation or something. Write a memoir. Relax a bit. Frolic in the woods. Lord knows you deserve it.” 

“And I know we’ve got this thing where we’re total dicks to each other but I just want to let you know how astounding I think your strength is. I’m not talking about power, cause we both know you can’t handle that for shit. I just mean strength to survive because after the living nightmare that is your life you’re _still _here. And that needs to be scientifically studied because statistically speaking it's an anomaly of phenomenal proportions.”__

Derek hums a little softly, curling and uncurling his fists experimentally as Stiles works his hand a little harder, increasing the pressure. It’s a second before he realises he’s reached the triskele at his back. Is it weird if he touches that? Stiles thinks yes. So he doesn't. 

“And if you can deal with all this shit and still come out of it as a reasonably maladjusted asshole as opposed to a deranged psychopath then I can handle an evil murder tree haunting my dreams each night. Really puts it in perspective, you know?” 

Derek doesn’t feel the need to formulate a reply. Seeing as Stiles is more than capable of carrying the conversation on his own. But still, a little effort might be appreciated. Stiles did very much just bare his soul. Not that Derek can understand him. 

The gesture still applies even if the point is still moot. Jesus, he may as well be talking to a wall. 

“Good talk, dude.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Scott shows up straight after school's out. His hair is damp from the helmet he wore whilst on his bike and Stiles feels a little twang at how easily he removes it. Especially when Derek’s still trapped in his. If only it was so simple to tear off. 

Stiles basically wasted time all day wandering around doing nothing. He played a couple video games in Scott's room until Derek had enough of that and sat in front of the TV to block his view. Message received. 

He also discovered that Derek is capable of taking care of his own business when he randomly disappeared for about ten minutes. He came diving on through the hole in the living room window some time later with jeans half torn apart from his own claws. 

Stiles had had so many questions at that moment. Could Derek even hold his dick with his claws still out? Did he mark his territory on a tree or something? Instead Stiles had hastily helped him into a fresh pair of pants and averted his eyes as much as the situation would allow. It could have been much worse. Thank the sun and stars that werewolf Derek is at least partially toilet trained. 

Things got a bit hairy when Stiles made himself and Derek sandwiches once he started getting peckish. He’d been trying to show Derek how to eat with his fingers instead of like an animal and Derek had just eaten the small bite right out of his hand. He licked Stiles’ fingers and everything. 

Stiles nearly suffered cardiac arrest at the sensation of Derek’s tongue in contact with any part of his body and yanked his fingers free so violently he nearly lost one to Derek’s teeth. He took a lot of skin with it. There may have been a bit of blood loss. After that Stiles showed Derek how to stab food with his claws and eat it off his own fingers like a fork. 

It'll work for the time being. 

But that’s how Stiles’ hand ends up covered in a bandage when Scott finally shows up. He smells the blood straight away and focuses on the injury with alarm. “Do not even ask. For your own safety.” 

If anything, his comment seems to make Scott more curious but he knows Stiles means it and doesn’t push for further details. Smart move. 

“Was Derek alright?” 

Stiles nods, shifting back onto the balls of his feet and trying not to relive most of the embarrassingly uncomfortable things that occurred. It's better that he forgets everything. “Yeah. He’s fed, watered and I even took him for a walk.” 

Scott pauses in the middle of dumping his backpack on the ground. “That’s not funny, Stiles.” 

“It’s is the absolute opposite of funny but this is how I cope. Inappropriate comments are my bread and butter.” 

It's true. It's so true it may as well be set in stone. Scott doesn't argue which can only speak of his unwavering agreement on the subject. 

"Also, I found the escape hatch," Stiles says pointing to the gaping hole in the window of Scott's living room. 

Scott drops his backpack with a heavy thump. He must be lugging around textbooks. He stares blankly at the destruction Derek has wrought in his living room with undeniable disbelief. 

"Mom's gonna be pissed." 

"I know. You're screwed," Stiles agrees helpfully. "At least your insurance should cover it." 

Scott snorts in derision. "Yeah, we'll file the claim under escaping werewolf. That should work out fine." 

"That's the spirit." 

Scott just stares at the open window for a little longer while he wraps his head around the sight. It's pretty ridiculous. But then again their entire lives up to this point are ridiculous so may as well keep running with what they know. 

“You gonna hang out for a bit?" Scott asks when he's stared at the destruction zone for long enough. "Kira’s coming over in an hour to study.” 

Third study wheel isn't as appealing as it sounds. He's sure Scott and Kira would rather be alone. Still, it's nice he offered. Scott is definitely one of the good guys. Hands down. No contest. 

“Not sure yet. You heard anything from Deaton? I was thinking of heading over to the Clinic.” 

Scott shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. We still have time left and he probably won't want to be distracted. When Deaton gets something, he’ll let us know.” 

Ever the practical Scott does make a fair point. “Alright. Keep me posted. And as fun as studying sounds, I think I'll head home.” 

“Sure, man. See you tomorrow.” 

Stiles waves half-heartedly on his way out the door and very pointedly does not look at the way Derek's hovering behind Scott's shoulder as if he doesn't want him to leave.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The next few days are a mixture of tension, anxiety and urgent restlessness. 

The music is still working at least half of the time every night he falls asleep but his worry for Derek’s impending doom is messing with the pattern. He’s still documenting everything, and even though there’s no outlying formula Stiles is starting to get a bigger handle on this Nemeton thing. 

He also manages to jerk off successfully which he's somehow more proud of. He does not use any imaginary fodder to get his engines going. Real or otherwise. Derek is most definitely not a feature because that is so invasive and creepy. Stiles is unusually focused on his fingers as he rubs one out though. Fingers that might have been in Derek's mouth at one point. 

No comments on that.

Scott’s stretched a little thin trying to keep everything running as smooth as possible and Deaton still hasn’t been heard from which is increasingly frustrating. They only have about a week and a half until the new moon. And if it passes, Derek’s screwed. No point in sugar coating it. 

It’s Friday night and they’re giving pack movie night a shot since their only supernatural problem at the moment seems to be Derek. Nothing much has floated through town since they went and liberated him from that Circus. Which has already left Beacon Hills in its dust by now after the outrageous fine Stiles' dad charged them with. The suddenly peaceful departure reeks of suspicion but they'll take what they can. 

They’ve got Star Wars IV going because Scott still hasn’t seen it and it’s a problem that Stiles needs to rectify immediately. 

Malia’s barely watched TV and Lydia has agreed to this only if the Notebook is going to be watched at some point in the evening. Kira's all for the Notebook as well but is just as happy to re-watch Star Wars first. Because as Stiles has always suspected of her, Kira is awesome and has watched the Star Wars Saga before. 

Derek’s sprawled against Scott who doesn’t seem to have much of a problem with the pack pile. But that’s probably because he won the war against Derek Vs. Shirtlessness. So he's feeling pleased with himself. Stiles' jeans feel less tight so he's compelled to agree with the practicality of the new change. Kira’s snuggled up on Scott’s other side and Malia and Lydia are getting comfortable on the couch. 

Stiles is just as happy to have the big, old armchair all to himself. Especially since he has lawful control of the huge bowl of popcorn in his hands. It’s a buttery flavour filled mess that Stiles is glad his father isn’t around to witness and he passes the bowl around with ease. It’s actually nice sitting around acting like semi regular human beings for once. 

If he can ignore Derek’s Iron Mask, they’re basically a regular run of the mill group of teenagers. Though again Stiles is not so sure how old Derek is. He should probably ask that if he keeps fantasising about dating him so often. His date fantasies usually involve hunting in the woods for new monsters, sitting through stakeouts and generally sexually charged bickering though. 

That probably speaks volumes about his personality. Oh well. It's not like he ever plans to do anything about it. 

Scott’s mom is out on shift so they’ve got the place to themselves. It’s all very chill. 

Stiles doesn’t really know how it happens. One moment the Falcon is being captured by the Death Star’s tractor beam and the next Stiles is sitting on the cut tree stump that is the remains of the Nemeton. 

Not again. And sitting opposite right there in the void with him is the Nogitsune. He gasps at the ugly sight of those horrible teeth and the bandages wrapped around his gruesome face. Stiles hasn’t dreamt about the Nogitsune before and the hideous grin is much too real as he reaches across the space for him. 

And Stiles is paralysed. 

“I missed you, Stiles,” he purrs and the sound of his voice makes him taste acid. 

It’s a dream. He knows it’s a dream but that doesn’t free his limbs. He doesn’t understand how he fell asleep so easily. There hadn’t been the slightest warning of fatigue. He hadn’t even felt tired. 

In panic he tries to jolt himself into awakening but the throes of the dream have him locked down tight. The roots of the Nemeton reach out and snake around his chest. 

He can’t do a single thing. Not even when the Nogitsune opens his bloody maw wide and leans in as if to swallow him whole. The final possession. 

The scream that leaves his mouth is piercing enough to shatter glass. 

Stiles is violently wrenched into consciousness. They’ve all surrounded him and while he thrashed around he must've upended the bowl of popcorn because now it’s scattered across the floor. 

Kira has a hand over her mouth and Scott’s jaw is clenched in anger. Lydia actually looks worried and Stiles can’t even look at Malia right now. She never really understood the nightmares. Fear to her is merely a form of adrenaline that makes her stronger, helps her survive. She can’t even fathom this kind of smoke and mirrors. 

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbles taking a deep breath. “It happens.” 

“Stiles are you alright?” Kira asks gently. “That sounded- bad.” 

“I’m fine,” he says, surprised to realise it’s true. 

No panic attack. No racing heart. Nothing. He’s just a little sweaty. And embarrassed. Scott knows about the dreams but he hasn’t exactly seen them in action before. None of them have. Stiles wishes that were still the case. 

He feels naked all of a sudden. Maybe a little vulnerable. 

“I know you are,” Scott says, voice hard. “You can thank Derek for that.” 

Stiles is still a little sluggish from the offsetting exhaustion following a nightmare so he doesn’t immediately catch on. “What?” 

Scott looks pointedly down at Stiles’ hands. Or more specifically his wrists that Derek’s trapped within his own, warm grip. The hand holding again. 

Stiles slowly extracts them, careful to miss the sharp claws. He stares into the slit of Derek’s mask hoping for some sort of explanation but all he can see is glowing blue. Nothing but werewolf. 

“When you started thrashing Derek grabbed your wrists and- did something. Then you woke up and the smell of your distress was gone.” 

“I don’t- what does that mean?” 

Scott’s expression is thoughtful. “I dunno. But I think Derek just took your emotional pain away.” 

“Huh?” 

“No, I’m serious. Do you even feel upset anymore?” 

Oh. He doesn’t. 

He understands how vivid the feeling had been but it’s just gone like it was on the tip of his tongue and now he can’t touch it anymore. That’s a new development. Since when can werewolves do that? It hits him suddenly why he felt so much better after the nightmare at Scott’s place the other day. When he’d woken up with Derek’s hand around his wrist. Sucking out his fear like poison. 

Jesus how did he not notice that? This is bad. As if Derek needs to take on any more emotional manpain. At this stage he might overload. 

“No.” 

“This is because of the Nemeton?” Lydia demands and does she sound vexed or is that his imagination? 

“And the Nogitsune,” Malia adds, the traitor. 

“It’s a lovely mixture of both,” Stiles clarifies. “It’s all good. Don’t worry I’m handling it.” 

“In what way did that come off as handled?” Lydia wonders folding her arms critically. 

Not like he would know because he was asleep during the entire thing. He was probably moving like he was possessed. Again. There’s usually the right amount of bruises the next day to suggest it. There’s no way in hell he plans on recording what he looks like in the middle of a nightmare to find out for sure. 

There are some things he’s better off not seeing. And that definitely makes the list. 

Stiles’ face heats up. “It’s a process. These things take time.” 

“Are you sleeping at all?” Kira questions and the worry on her face makes him feel both warm and uncomfortable. 

“A couple hours a night. But I’m coping. This is what happens when people sacrifice themselves to a dead tree and then get possessed.” 

“But-“ 

“It’s fine,” Stiles pushes, using a tone that speaks volumes on how much he is _done _with this topic of conversation.__

They let it drop. Stiles moves into the kitchen for a dustpan to clean up the mess of popcorn he made all over Scott’s living room carpet. He uses the distance to compose himself a little. 

It’s pointless though. 

He’s going to need a lot more than a few minutes full of deep breathing in Scott’s kitchen.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me [here](http://i-sveikata.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! Where the magic always happens (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧


	2. I'll use you as a warning sign, That if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Even without Derek’s emotional pain sucking help, listening to his playlist when his falls asleep is still working. 

And although the nightmares haven’t slowed down in number, waking up isn’t as soul crushingly terrifying as it had been before. He hasn’t had a panic attack in a week. Even the screaming is getting rare. His dad hasn’t asked about the change, probably worried the improvement might be temporary like it was last time but Stiles can see he’s dying to know. 

He wants to asks exactly what Stiles is doing to mend his tortured soul. 

If only slightly. 

Stiles doesn’t explain because he doesn’t want to jinx it either. 

He hasn’t been home much since they freed Derek. No matter how many times he shows Scott how to do the Tellington TTouch the dude keeps calling him with frantic requests to come over. It turns out Derek does not enjoy having his head trapped in a prison made of metal. Who knew? Not only did he break the living room window (which Melissa is still raving about even now) but he’s broken Scott’s lacrosse stick so many times that Scott resorted to leaving it in the school locker room. 

He's torn through every pair of clothes he'd been given so that Stiles was actually forced to break into Derek's loft in order to liberate more lest he be permanently naked. Not that Stiles has anything against that exactly but there's the whole boundaries thing he's working on and having a first row view to his junk is distinctly counterintuitive to that process. 

Derek's also been surprisingly picky about the food Scott tries to feed him as well. As if this situation isn't complicated enough. 

Wearing his own clothes seems to mollify him. Probably because they’re covered in his scent and Stiles' suggestion of feeding Derek raw meat is only a half serious problem solving tactic for his eating habits or lack thereof. Scott doesn’t agree, but they do eventually figure out the food problem has more to do with Derek being unable to chew even with the headway Deaton made with the clamps. 

Scott starts blending everything afterwards. The colours of these nutrient smoothies when finished are entirely unappetising. 

There's four days left until the new moon when Deaton finally calls Scott to let him know he thinks he’s found the solution. He needs to travel out of Beacon Hills to select some of the ingredients for the spell but promises he’ll be back before the werewolf forever countdown is up. 

Stiles sincerely hopes he is. 

He’s in the middle of documenting everything in his notebook- he fell asleep in Economics again and the resulting nightmare had been a doozy- because he’s started noticing patterns. Like, if he doesn’t get more than an hours sleep he’ll have no control over whenever he falls asleep again. But if it’s more than two he can at least wait until the evening to shut his eyes. Hence the micro sleep in class today. 

It’s a lot easier to feel better about all of this when he can explain why the truly terrifying nightmares happen. He’s just in the middle of pulling out his iPod and untucking the sheets to climb into bed when his phone buzzes. 

It’s Scott calling. 

“What’s up?” Stiles asks, flopping across the mattress and onto his belly to get comfortable. 

“Derek escaped again! You need to get over here and help me find him!” 

What the hell? This again? Stiles doesn't understand why a beta who's injured, trapped and most likely constantly afraid would continuously leave the sanctuary of his alpha's home for the danger of the outside world. But then again, this _is_ Derek they're dealing with so all bets are off. He'd have a better chance at figuring out the mysterious and enigmatic Deaton as opposed to Why Derek Does Things. 

Besides Scott’s hardly an awful dude to be living with. So why is Derek running off? For a second time? Jesus, and where could he have possibly run off to? They need to find him ASAP. 

He jumps up, grabs a pair of pants and struggles into them as quickly as he can. “You call Kira. I’ll call Lydia?” 

“And Malia,” Scott urges, and right, of course. He needs to stop forgetting to include his ex girlfriend into the mix. “She’s the best tracker. She’s lived in these woods for half her life.” 

“Okay, okay. We’ll meet you at the Preserve. You are sure he ran into the woods, right? He’s not just hanging out in a cave somewhere?” 

Scott releases an impatient sound. “Yes, Stiles. I was doing that circle touch thing when he freaked out, jumped through the window and took off into the woods.” 

Stiles hurries to his closet for shoes, steals a dirty pair of socks off his floor and shoves them onto his bare feet. 

“How does one even do that wrong?” he wonders distractedly as he finds a suitable pair of ratty old sneakers for hiking. 

“Just meet us at the Preserve, okay?” Scott urges before hanging up. 

Stiles starts dialling Lydia as he ties his shoelaces. 

“Yes?” 

“Derek’s run away from home. We’re going to the Preserve to search for him before he hurts himself or someone else. You in?” 

“I’ll be ready in five.” 

“I’ll pick you up?” Stiles offers. 

“See you then.” 

She hangs up and Stiles grabs a hoodie and rushes out of the room and down the stairs. He catches his dad in the middle of boiling the kettle, the teabag hanging over the edge of his mug. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise at all the commotion as Stiles forces the hoodie over his bare chest, getting his arms tangled in the sleeves. 

“Derek got out and he’s running through the woods like a madman. I’m going to help search.” 

“Will you need a uniform? I can say we’ve got a lost hiker out in the Preserve.” 

Stiles doesn’t want to think how Derek might interact with a stranger who isn’t a part of his pack. The general consensus is it would be bad. “I can’t guarantee he won’t attack someone,” he admits slowly. It’s a risk they shouldn't be taking. “Better not.” 

“Alright. Be safe and don’t do anything stupid.” 

Stiles nods as he heads for the front door, retrieving his keys off the main hook. “Don’t wait up for me,” he calls out. 

“No promises,” his dad hollers from the kitchen. 

The drive to Lydia’s takes about five minutes. By the time he’s pulling into her driveway she’s already walked down from the porch and is standing in the beam of his headlights. She’s in jeans which Stiles has never seen her wear before and a thick sweater. 

“How long ago did he get out?” she asks as she climbs into the passenger seat. 

“Not sure. About fifteen minutes, maybe?” 

Lydia’s quiet as she calculates that information. “That’s good. He probably hasn’t had enough time to get far. Malia will be able to catch his trail.” 

“I hope so,” Stiles says. “Don’t even want to think what’ll happen if we can’t find him.” 

“If we don't then the new moon passes after four days and he stays out in those woods forever.” 

“Aren’t you the optimist?” 

But he silently agrees with the assessment. He wishes Derek had performed a jail break a few days earlier when the threat of the spell’s permanence wasn’t looming over their heads. 

Derek’s timing sucks. It's a given fact. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


They make it to the Preserve in record timing. Stiles doesn’t want to consider the amount of speeding that is involved in making that happen. When they pull up in the parking lot Scott, Kira and Malia are already there. Waiting for them. 

And Scott’s holding up one of Derek’s Henleys. 

“Hey,” Stiles greets when they get out of the jeep. “We ready to go?” 

“Almost,” Scott says. “Malia just needs to get the scent first.” 

She leans forward and takes the shirt out of Scott’s hand, pressing it right up into her face and closing her eyes to inhale. It’s a very strange sight watching his ex girlfriend take a big whiff of Derek’s natural musk. 

Stiles isn’t quite sure how he feels about it. Uncomfortable, is a word that comes to mind. It's not like he wanted to sniff Derek's clothing himself but there's something inherently wrong with this picture before Malia hands the material back to Scott. 

“We’ll split up to cover more ground,” Scott tells them. 

“Here,” Stiles says handing over one of the walkies he’s liberated from the station and keeps in his jeep for situations just like this. “So we can radio in when we find him.” 

Scott smiles gratefully and accepts the offering. “So me and Kira will take north and follow the rabbit trails to see where that leads us and Malia will lead you guys east. We’ll cover more ground and move in to meet in the middle.” 

“I haven’t been in these woods at night since I was running through it naked,” Lydia muses thoughtfully. 

“Me too,” Malia agrees without shame. 

Kira just lets out an embarrassed cough. 

“Alright let’s do this,” Stiles heartens. “No feral werewolves left behind.” 

Lydia rolls her eyes as Scott and Kira disappear into the opposing edge of the woods with a nervous wave. “He’s hardly feral, Stiles. His cognitive skills are merely at a rudimentary level.” 

“Yeah, but when you-“ 

“Has he eaten anyone?” Malia interjects. “Sought out and killed rival packs infringing on his territory?” 

“Not that I know of.” 

“Then he’s still human.” 

She leads them through the main trail, veering suddenly off of the path and driving further into the woods. The moon is out, in its third quarter as it wanes and hangs over their heads like a warning while they trudge through the darkness. 

Stiles’ eyes keep flickering to it every few seconds like it’s going to magically accelerate the movement of the earth and completely disappear into the dark moon. 

When it gets too dim for human eyes, Lydia pulls out her flashlight and Malia’s eyes start glowing blue. Scott’s voice comes crackling over the radio. “You guys there?” 

Stiles fumbles with it for a second before he pushes the right button to answer. “Yeah we’re here. Still nothing.” 

The flashlight illuminates the blank expression on Lydia’s face. Her eyes are wide but like she’s looking into something they can’t see. As if she might know something. It’s her banshee face. The one she makes whenever they’re about to discover a- 

“We found a body.” 

Naturally. Stiles nearly drops the radio. Lydia sees his shock and reaches out to grab his arm. Her hand is warm and comforting through the material of his hoodie but Stiles is too wrapped up in his fear to focus on it. 

“It’s not-” 

“It’s not Derek,” Scott declares hastily. “But she’s wearing the same sort of metal mask. Only prettier? It’s just attached to her face but. Not covering her entire head. I think- I think, there’s more of them. Like a cult.” 

Malia growls softly and returns back to where he and Lydia are lingering to hear the radio transceiver properly. They huddle together instinctively and take a defensive stance. 

This ain’t their first rodeo that’s for sure. At this point they’re basically veterans at being attacked in the woods. 

“How- how many?” Stiles asks, cringing a little at the waver in his voice. 

He wishes he’d thought to bring a baseball bat. The first one he broke on a charging werewolf and the second aluminium one he used to prop up the support beam of the collapsing Nemeton’s root cellar. The third one is rolling around on his bedroom floor somewhere. 

He could really use it right about now. 

“About six, I think,” Scott estimates. “And I think they’re hunting Derek.” 

“Is the person dead?” Stiles wonders. 

“No, she’s still breathing. Bleeding a lot. I think she needs to visit a hospital.” 

“Scott, call my dad,” Stiles commands. “They’ll come get her. We need to get to Derek.” 

“This is serious guys. They’re pretty dangerous. Look at what they did to Derek.” 

They all exchange glances and although Lydia and Malia look a little on edge, no one’s backing down. “We know. We’re not going anywhere. Stay there. We’ll come to you.” 

“Okay. Be careful.” 

Malia inhales deeply before drastically changing their direction, leading them towards Scott and Kira so they can regroup. “Tell him to see if he can remove the mask,” Lydia urges. “Maybe it’s something they all wear, whoever they are. It might show us how to remove Derek’s.” 

Stiles nods and pulls the radio toward his mouth. “Hey Scott. Have a closer look at the mask. See if it’s like Derek’s and if you can remove it. Don’t touch it in case it’s warded too.” 

“Okay, we’ll have a look.” 

Malia’s moving so quickly they nearly lose sight of her between the trees. Stiles and Lydia have to jog to catch up. 

“Good thinking,” Stiles whispers. 

Lydia smiles assuredly. “Only always.” 

It’s about fifteen minutes of tense hiking with the possibility that one of these masked freaks might come jumping out from behind a tree at any moment. Stiles sighs in relief when the beam of Kira’s flashlight can finally be seen up ahead. Everyone’s glad when they reach the clearing unscathed. Stiles doesn’t wait for introductions, just strides towards the body slumped against the tree Scott’s standing next to. 

He’s not wrong about the mask. 

It is like Derek’s although the design isn’t the same. Scott’s other observations rings true as well. The mask doesn’t completely cover her entire head like it does Derek’s. And her mask _is_ pretty. 

There’s intricate swirls and unique patterns crafted into the metalwork. The design is flawless. And the colours imbued in the metal are breathtaking. If a little faded. So not only is Derek’s mask of doom chunky, impractical and dense, it’s also ugly. How unfair is that? Stiles watches her breaths critically for a moment while he peers at the rim where skin and hair meets mask. 

“I called your dad,” Scott informs him. “He’s sending Parrish and an ambulance.” 

Stiles doesn’t answer. But he does reach down, fingers tracing the edge of the mask before he tries to pull it off. The buzzing starts up like it did with Derek’s but the initial pressure gives way and and the mask slips off her face. 

“Stiles, what are you-“ 

“Oh my God,” he cries dropping the mask and scrambling away at the sight of her face. 

Kira gasps in horror. And the silence speaks for the rest of them. Because the woman’s flesh is completely melted, eyelids sealed shut like liquified wax. 

No. Not again. 

“No, no, no, no,” Stiles mumbles wrenching his hands up to his face and frantically counting. He really thought he was awake this time. Oh God. He gets up to six when Lydia crouches next to him, shaking at his shoulder as Malia snatches at his hands and yanks them away from his face. 

“You’re not in a dream,” Lydia tells him. “This is real. Go ahead keep counting.” 

Malia releases him and Stiles makes it to ten. Ten fingers. Not a dream. Reality. A reality of nightmare proportions. These things are just starting to blend together now. Stiles doesn’t not believe it’s a good thing. 

“Put it back on,” Kira moans. “I think I’m going to be sick.” 

Stiles reaches for where he’d tossed the mask in his panic at the grisly sight. 

“Wait,” Scott cautions. “Your hands. You’ll get burnt.” 

Stiles ignores him in favour of picking up the mask again. He manoeuvres it back onto her unconscious face and can almost forget what it looks like underneath all of those wonderful colours and patterns. The colour seems a little darker after he's removed it but. 

“It’s fine. I’ve touched Derek’s mask. Nothing happened.” 

Scott seems at a loss for words. “You did. When? And why?” 

“C’mon, Scott this is me we’re talking about. Of course I touched the thing. I was curious.” 

“Of course you did," Scott sighs before shaking himself. "What are we doing? We need to keep searching. Someone should wait here for Parrish-” 

“I’ll do it,” Lydia offers out of the goodness of her heart. 

Stiles nearly scoffs. Looks like Parrish's attention hasn’t escaped her notice. As if anything gets past Lydia. 

“I think I can hear Derek,” Malia announces abruptly. “Drawn in by the high emotional impulses Stiles is showing. Predator sensing weak prey.” 

And Stiles is completely offended by that comparison. Maybe it’s Kira giving off the emotional impulses? She was just as freaked out by the woman’s face. Stiles is hardly the arbiter of emotional distress here. 

Scott tilts his head to the side to listen. “You’re right. I think that _is _Derek. And two of the masked hunters have caught his trail. They’re not far behind.”__

“So you’re suggesting I just freak out some more and Derek will fall into our laps?” Stiles demands. “What is up with all the easy rescues at the moment?” 

“I don’t think this classifies as easy,” Kira mutters, drawing her sword from its sheath and taking a fighting stance. 

Malia’s claws are out too but really when aren’t they? She likes to use them too much to bother with human hands if she can help it. Scott rolls his neck as he transforms into a partial shift. There go the eyebrows. Will he be able to go full wolf eventually? That’ll be so cool. 

Stiles rises to his feet and stands around because he’s human and won’t have any sudden magical abilities sprouting out of his skin to help him kick ass. He’s basically defenceless right now. Definitely a good time to be freaking out. 

The resounding howl that follows is both discouraging and highly alarming. Because it’s close. Really close. 

Stiles’ heart is pounding in his chest. If it’s all the same to everyone he’d prefer not to be Derek’s target right now. Tell that to his biological responses because no matter how hard he’s trying he just can’t calm down. 

It’s because of her face. The gruesome sight is like a gateway to every awful nightmare he’s ever had and they all come flooding back at once. Most of them feature his dad and his friends. Even his dead ones. Watching people important to you suffer is its own special brand of torture. It takes barely a moment of shallow breathing before Stiles realises he’s reacting a little too much. 

He can feel the onset of a panic attack rolling in and knows from experience that hyper focusing on the prospect of its approach only makes it arrive faster. 

He takes a deep breath and quickly tries to get out of his head. Stiles looks frantically around the clearing for something else to concentrate on and his eyes fall on the mask. He crouches down to trace his fingers over each indent, follows the path of every swirl. He still feels lightheaded but it’s slowly ebbing away. Crisis somewhat averted. He stays next to the girl’s body just in case and waits for his heart beat to slow down. 

“You’re freaking out too much,” Malia observes a little bluntly. 

“Really?” Stiles grumbles drawing another deep breath. “I had no idea.” 

Scott tenses as Malia whips her head suddenly to the left, dropping into a defensive stance. 

“Get ready,” Scott commands. 

Stiles barely opens his mouth to explain the various ways in which he’s born ready before something explodes into the clearing on four legs. Stiles barely gets a flash of Iron Mask before Derek is slamming into his chest, hard and tackling him to the forest floor. Whatever sense of calm he’s achieved goes flying out as quickly as the breath in his chest does. 

He moans in pain and fear, winded and practically squashed under Derek’s immovable weight. He can hear Derek’s short panting breaths in his ear and ineffectually tries to get his hands up on Derek’s chest to push him off. Derek doesn’t seem to get the message though but when Stiles figures out he’s not trying to hurt him he’s able to go back to reasonably relaxed. 

“Anyone have any idea what he’s doing?” Stiles squeaks, voice strangled under the weight of Derek pressing so thoroughly against every inch of him. 

This is not good. Stiles can’t help but notice how warm he feels. Or how he smells. If he stays there for much longer his dick is going to have something to say about it for sure. 

“I think he’s trying to help you,” Scott manages. “Just. Let him do whatever and keep him from going anywhere. Those masks aren’t far behind.” 

Stiles does not approve of this plan. 

“What if 'whatever' involves him eating me?” he cries heart beat spiking when Derek’s clawed hand comes down over his neck to finish the job. 

Worst timing as always. 

Stiles struggles to push him off before Derek presses his fingers deep into Stiles’ skin. And starts to move in a clockwise circle. He’s Tellington TTouching Stiles again. How does he even know to do that? And is he really that self-sacrificing that he's trying to help Stiles' emotional state right now with his own life in mortal danger? 

“Great, you’re doing the thing I accidentally taught you,” Stiles mumbles getting an arm free so he can pat Derek’s metal head. The buzzing starts up all over again and it’s almost as pleasantly distracting as what Derek’s doing so he lets it rest there. “That’s big of you. But I need you to stay here and don’t run off when those demented mask people come back.” 

Derek’s hand goes taut and actually nicks Stiles’ skin with his claws. He curses at the sting just as Derek growls. In his usual, irritated way of understanding. As if he just followed Stiles' words. Which what? Stiles’ hand falls away in shock. 

He totally understood Stiles or at least it seemed like he did. Derek makes no other form of declaration that he’s in the know of what’s going on and Stiles nearly dismisses it as a fluke. Again. But he’s seen enough X-men to know sometimes metal can block people's thoughts. 

Maybe he and Derek were communicating telepathically or something? Whatever it is, Stiles is absolutely certain it happened a few days before. 

When Stiles _touched _Derek’s mask for the first time. And Derek had answered his joke about how much his life sucks with a rightfully offended growl. Holy shit, this might just be a breakthrough.__

__Shakily, he reaches out to touch the mask again._ _

“Derek, you in there or was that a coincidence?” 

The question quickly gets everyone’s attention as they turn back to look at them. Derek growls again and Stiles’ doubts go out the window with any preconceived ideas that he understands anything in the universe. 

Because Derek can _hear _him. But why then hasn’t he always answered? And Jesus, it’s because Stiles hasn’t always been touching the mask whenever he talks. Touching the mask must be doing something to the magic shielding Derek’s humanity.__

“Holy shit. This is amazing,” Stiles crows glancing up at Scott who seems astounded by the sudden turn of events. “Okay guys, so I’m thinking that by touching the mask I’ve found a loophole in the spell.” 

The rest of them just stare at him blankly. They haven’t have enough time to catch up with this concept as Stiles has. He turns his attention back to Derek. 

“Alright, how about we do this. Tap your claw once for yes and twice for no. Am I in fact talking to do Derek Hale right now?” 

The weird noise comes out of his mouth but Derek taps his claw once on Stiles’ skin. 

Shit. Communication. 

And of course, Derek can somehow express the entire range of human frustration in one measly tap of his claws. What? It isn’t a stupid question. Derek might not even remember who he is at this stage. 

“You didn’t seem like you could understand us before. Did you?” 

Derek taps twice for no. Which works with Stiles’ theory so far. The magic is working as a shield to keep Derek’s human trapped in his mind and the werewolf in his body. The cage is literally keeping Derek locked in. Is that it? It definitely seems so. 

“Look, Deaton’s trying to get you free of this thing. You’ve just got to hang in there. You okay?” 

It’s a dumb question, but he has to know. Derek tenses a little, but taps out a vehement no. It’s so beautiful Stiles could cry. 

“Derek,” Scott finally asks, having recovered his composure. “Do you know these masked people that are after you?” 

No response. So he does have to be touching the mask to communicate with a specific individual. Having the connection doesn't make him open to conversation with everyone else. It’s too bad the spell prevents pretty much any supernatural entities getting their hands on it without them swelling up to horrific proportions. 

Stiles has never been so happy to be human. The spell is a lot smarter than they've given it credit for. 

“You have to be touching the metal,” Stiles explains. “Otherwise, he can’t hear you.” 

Scott makes a frustrated sound. “But I _can’t _touch it!”__

“Exactly,” Stiles agrees seeing the true evil of the masked people’s plan. “That’s the beauty of the spell’s curse. None of his pack can communicate with him. They probably didn’t account for any human members when they created it.” 

“Is it cursed against all supernatural beings or just werewolves?” Kira wonders. “Maybe I could touch it?” 

It's nice to offer, but there are so many ways that could go wrong. 

“I don’t really think it’s a good idea having all that electricity so close to Derek’s brain,” Stiles admits and Derek tenses again in complete agreement of that opinion and pulls off Stiles’ body, staying close enough so Stiles can keep the connection open. 

Kira flushes a little. “Right. Bad idea.” 

“I’ll do it,” Lydia says and reaches out to press her hand on the top of Derek’s mask. 

Stiles pulls his hand away, ignoring Derek’s huff of breath as he watches to see what happens. 

She doesn’t cry out in pain and there’s no sudden hand swelling or erupting boils so they’re probably in the clear on that regard. 

“Can you hear me?” Lydia asks. 

And Derek doesn’t reply. At all. 

Stiles frowns, puzzled by it. If anything Lydia’s immunity to the curse should mean she should be able to communicate with him. His forehead clears with understanding. 

“I think you might be immune to the spell’s effect but not the spell itself?” Stiles ventures, placing his hand back onto Derek’s head. “Hey Derek, did you hear Lydia just now?” 

Derek taps out no. Lydia sighs and pulls her hand back, disappointed. 

“This is stupid,” Malia mutters striding forward and pushing Stiles’ hand out of the way as she places her own hands down on top of it. 

“Wait- don’t,” Stiles tries to warn but it’s too late. 

Malia lets out a pained yelp and rips her hands free, cradling them into her chest. It follows the same patterns as Scott’s hands did when they first touched it. Only, it happens faster. 

Oh shit. Probably because she’s not an alpha. Her hands are black and swelling up when the two masked hunters enter the clearing. They’re dressed in dark clothing and their arms are strangely rigid and wooden looking. Derek starts growling, low and threatening. 

Stiles slaps his hand back onto the mask again. “I know you’re pissed,” he whispers hastily. “But don’t do anything. They want you. Let us take care of it.” 

“Give us the evolved wolf,” the one on the left, distinctly male, commands. 

His voice has an eerie unnatural sound. They don’t even spare a cursory glance at their fallen comrade. Solid teamwork. Stiles can feel the love. At least Stiles thinks they don’t look. It’s hard to tell where they’re gazing with those masks on their faces. 

It’s clear straight away that they look different too. Each mask seems unique to the individual. The one on the left is red as blood with jagged, violent patterns that sharpen the features of the mask and the one on the right, another female, her mask is black as tar and swirled with touches of silver. He also notices their colours seem much brighter than the woman bleeding out next to them. 

That's got to mean something, for sure. 

They both look terrifying. Evil. Stiles can’t actually believe he’s not in a nightmare at the moment. His hands on Derek’s skull still count out ten, but. The evidence speaks for itself. No nightmare. Just a living one. 

Malia's small whimpers of pain are the only sounds filling the clearing. Besides Stiles’ uneven breaths. Scott steps in front of the group in a protective stance and Stiles can see from the jut of his shoulders that he’s angry. Really angry. 

“You have harmed my pack,” Scott booms in his scary alpha voice which sounds awesome right now. “This is my territory. Leave now. This is your last warning.” 

Stiles knows Scott’s not planning on killing anybody but he sure sounds capable of it in that moment. Is it wrong Stiles feels proud? Little Scotty all grown up and threatening people over his territories. 

It’s beautiful. 

“He was in our territory,” the woman argues in a voice that's just as unnatural sounding. It must be a magical side effect of the mask. Are their faces melted behind the metal as well? Stiles doesn’t want to know. “Your claims to him are forfeit.” 

Derek growls and Stiles taps his head in warning. If he attacks they’ll probably manage to take him. There are still three more of these monsters running around in the woods. 

They might be outnumbered. It’s going to turn messy, Stiles can just tell. The masked hunters aren’t backing down. Scott doesn’t budge. 

“He’s a member of my pack,” Scott says. “My claim stands until death.” 

The masked hunters don’t reply. But that doesn’t mean they’ve given up. Stiles knows what they do next will be bad. Very bad. 

They hiss out an angry stilted noise and the stiff arms finally make sense when they flare their hands outwards and long jagged weapons slide free into their grip. As if they’d had it stuffed up their sleeves the entire time. 

They’re sharp and mean looking. Probably can inflict a lot of damage. On all of them. Stiles is not liking their prospects considering Malia’s hands need to be fixed and she’s in no condition to fight, Stiles has no weapons and Derek has a hunk of metal covering his head. 

They’re a bit of a mess at the moment. The masked hunters take one step forward and Lydia screams. Not in terror. A banshee scream. Stiles moans and covers his ears as the masked hunters stumble back at the sound, crouching low and trying to retreat from it. 

The unconscious woman's body starts shaking the scream is so powerful. It’s helpful and all but she could’ve warned them or something. Scott’s nearly on his knees at the sound as well. 

The noise soon dies off. And although the masked hunters shift warily they’re not completely incapacitated. They restart their approach. Stiles tenses, removing his hands from his ears and prepares to help. Somehow. He has to try. 

The masked hunters go still at the exact moment. Their movements are so in unison that it’s creepy. They turn to look at something beyond the clearing behind Lydia. As if they sense something coming. Something big enough to give them pause. 

Probably more of their comrades. Jesus, they’re screwed. They're going to take Derek and turn him into a wolf permanently. And there’s nothing they can do about it. 

Except. The masked hunters don’t relax at the prospect of reinforcements. Oh no. Their limbs lock up in terror and their heads snap so fast to look at one another that Stiles feels sick. 

“Is that?” the woman asks voice, high and abnormal. 

Sounding much more grating now that it’s filled with fear. 

“Yes,” the man replies and he’s just as terrified. 

And in the next second they're gone. Melting into the trees with the devil on their heels. 

It's as if they never existed. Stiles’ fear amps up at the approach of whatever monster scared them into retreating and he’s about to suggest they run when he notices Scott’s perplexed expression. 

“What is it?” Stiles urges. “Another hunter? A werewolf?” 

Scott just shakes his head in incredulity. He shifts back and takes Kira’s hand which says volumes on the level of danger present and Stiles whips his head in the direction of their approaching ally. Who is dangerous enough to scare off these nearly otherworldly beings. 

Torchlight flickers through the trees like they’d heard Lydia’s scream and are coming in fast. Running toward them. 

It’s, it’s- 

Parrish? 

Stiles gaps at his arrival when he enters the clearing with his gun drawn. 

“I heard Lydia scream,” he announces a little breathlessly but there’s no magical explanation for how a deputy is enough to frighten off masked hunters who don’t even blink at werewolves, a were-coyote, a kitsune and a banshee. 

What even is Parrish anyway? Stiles would really like to know. 

“We’re fine Jordan,” Lydia announces, recovering her own shock. Everyone’s still looking at Parrish as he holsters his weapon with a relieved smile. “She needs a hospital though.” 

She gestures at the masked woman and though Parrish seems a little puzzled at her appearance, he quickly bends down and lifts her easily into his arms. “She’s not psychic too, is she?” he asks, but he’s only teasing. 

Some kind of inside joke. Lydia smiles a little before announcing she’ll go with Parrish to the hospital. 

“Call my mom before you get there,” Scott suggests. “Make sure she takes care of her.” 

Parrish nods and they quickly move out. 

Stiles hopes that she survives. They have a lot of questions for her. His attention is brought back to the present when Malia whimpers again. “We need to get you to Deaton,” he says. 

Derek makes a noise of protest, seizing Stiles’ wrists when he goes to pull his hands away. “Look, I know you’ve got plenty to say about the shitty situation you're in right now. But you’re going to have to hold off on that until we get to Deaton.” 

Derek huffs but lets go. Compromise. 

They haul ass to get back to Stiles’ jeep. They’re in such a rush that they leave Scott’s bike in the parking lot, everyone climbing into the one car. As soon as Stiles stopped touching the mask he’s reverted back to the non responsive wolf and it’s worse knowing Derek is under there somewhere and can’t get out. 

He said he can’t understand them without the connection so does that mean his humanity comes to the surface only when Stiles pushes past the boundaries of the spell? Where does his humanity go in the interim? Does it just bury itself deep? Like the wolf should be. Stiles can’t believe they’ve managed to create a spell so complex. And just use it on a dude infringing on their turf. 

Seems like overkill really. 

There has to be more to it than that. It’s hardly just punishment if they’ve come all this way from Oregon to collect him. And if it is punishment then why did they only take Derek? And not Braeden too? Is it because he’s a werewolf? 

Stiles is thinking so much that his brain is on autopilot until he pulls into the Clinic’s parking lot. When they all pile out of the jeep, Stiles finally gets a look at Malia. 

And she is not looking good. The curse has spread past her blackened, blistered hands and has reached her bare forearms. They’ve just gotten to the purpling stage and Stiles doesn’t want to think of what it’ll do when the curse reaches the skin over her heart. Bad things he’s assuming. 

Deaton meets them at the doors, waving them into the building impatiently. Scott must have called ahead while he was driving. 

“We must put her into the tub immediately,” Deaton urges and he’s dragged out one of those tubs they'd used to drown themselves in and filled it with the same potion he used on Scott. 

To say it brings up unpleasant memories is an understatement. 

Stiles’ flesh crawls when he sees the bloody water welcoming her. Without preamble, Scott lifts her by the waist and pushes her in. She shrieks at first in discomfort and struggles but Stiles, Kira and Deaton help to hold her arms underwater. When her skin erupts into boils and she starts to realise the pain is ebbing, the thrashing ceases. 

“You know, I did explain what happened to Scott the first time he touched it,” Stiles points out a little unhelpfully. Sue him. “You really didn’t have to try it for yourself.” 

“Shut up, Stiles,” she grits through clenched fangs. Her eyes are glowing as her healing kicks into gear again. 

Oh well, he tried. 

“Shutting up.” 

“You should allow a few minutes before you remove yourself from the water,” Deaton rationalises and Malia slumps down with a huff of exasperation. 

Serves her right. What is it with werewolves and touching the bad thing after Stiles touches it first? There’s a compelling theory behind that he is sure. 

“Tell Deaton what Derek did,” Scott commands going to a nearby cupboard and pulling out a towel to dry off his hands. He passes it over to Stiles when he’s done. 

“Derek figured out how to do the Tellington TTouch,” Stiles begins evasively. 

He’s not entirely ready for Deaton’s explanation of why only he can talk to Derek. He has a sinking feeling it has to do with less than normal human things. 

Maybe something about being the spark. At this point Stiles is hardly handling being human. He is in no way prepared to go down the be-the-spark road just yet. Stiles would rather not be the catalyst to igniting shit with his belief if he can help it. Sticking to the simple human stuff works for him. 

Scott frowns, because he knows Stiles is purposely being vague. 

“He communicated with Derek,” Scott informs his boss. “By touching the mask.” 

Deaton’s interest immediately perks up to optimum levels. He turns to stare at Stiles’ hands as if expecting them to be erupt into boils at any given moment. Stiles sincerely hopes not. 

“You were able to touch the metal unharmed?” he inquires. “How interesting. And without any side affects?” 

Stiles shrugs a little indifferently, trying not to look at Derek. “It starts out as a buzzing in my ears and then tingling fingers like pins and needles. That’s about it.” 

“So you’re saying that Derek can understand us?” 

“No,” Kira clarifies. “It’s only when Stiles is touching the mask. No one else can without the spell cursing them. Stiles thinks it’s because he’s human.” 

Deaton frowns. Oh no and that is definitely not unquestioning belief in the idea. What does it matter how his does it? Shouldn’t it just matter that he can? 

“When you spoke to Derek while anchoring yourself to mask how did you do it?” 

“I don’t know,” Stiles mutters edgily. “Talking is my default setting. I wasn’t really thinking much about it.” 

Deaton assesses that for a beat. “But you believed that you could talk to him and so you were able to,” Deaton assumes. “Your belief sparked a change in the spell. And ignited a magical loophole if you will. Because you are able to touch the cursed object unharmed you are able to access its power and wield it to your advantage.” 

Stiles is not ready to accept all of this responsibility. This is why he prefers Scott in all the leadership roles. Being a lacky is much simpler. Less bloodshed certainly. “So you’re saying I could take off Derek’s mask if I wanted?” 

Deaton chuckles. “I wouldn’t go as far as to suggest that. No, for now I have the remedy for the spell brewing in my office.” 

Stiles is more than happy to let him take the reins on this one. He moves over to Derek as Deaton goes to fetch it. He places his palm onto the cool metal. 

“Deaton thinks he’s figured out the spell to free you,” he explains. “He’s grabbing it now. If luck’s on our side you’ll be out and growling at everyone in no time.” 

Derek snarls and his hands clench into fists. He does not appreciate the dickish attitude right now apparently. Stiles uses his free hand to pat his shoulder. “That’s the spirit.” 

Deaton returns and Stiles leads Derek over to the metal benches they use to operate on pets and encourages him to sit on its edge. He presses his fingertips back onto the mask as Deaton brings the smoking bowl forward. 

“Okay, we’re doing this. You okay in there buddy? You ready?” 

Derek taps his claws on the table once for yes. All systems go. Stiles is more than ready for them to be done with this Halloween shit. All of the muscles bunch up in Derek's arms in preparation as he grips the edge of the table and Stiles does not ogle them. 

Not at all. 

“It might be better for you to stand back, Stiles.” 

Yeah, fair enough. 

He’s in definite agreement that being covered entirely in mystical potion will not be a pleasant endeavour. 

He's still a little reluctant to draw away though. What? It must really suck being so confused about what’s going on. Derek has to be seriously lost right now. Stiles can relate. 

Deaton lifts the bowl over Derek’s head and basically just tips it over. There’s no real elegance to it just a lot of boiling muck splashing everywhere. Steam rises off of Derek’s mask and there’s a faint hum like something significant is happening. 

Except for the part where nothing significant happens. 

Damn. Deaton sets the bowl down with a nonplussed frown. Then Derek starts shaking off all the excess water running down his body. Stiles doesn’t want to be the guy implying he does it exactly like a dog. But well. If the shoe fits. That’s all he’s saying. Not to mention Derek sprays him with some of it as well. 

Gross. 

“Hmm,” Deaton finally says after a beat of awkward silence. “This is not good.” 

“Oh really?” Stiles wonders sarcastically. 

Kira bites her lip and hovers anxiously next to Malia’s tub like she’s expecting her to jump out at any moment. Stiles wouldn’t put it past her. 

“What happened?” Scott asks. 

“The cursed object is more powerful than I’d realised,” Deaton admits. “I will have to consult some ancient texts again.” 

“But you already did that,” Stiles huffs. “Not to be the downer here, but Derek’s only got four days left until he goes all wolf, all the time.” 

Deaton doesn’t seem too offended. “It is the best I can do, I’m sorry. Perhaps if you tell me more about these individuals who attacked tonight I might understand how to reverse this.” 

“They all wore masks for one,” Kira interjects helpfully. “But not like Derek’s. Theirs were just to cover their faces and looked prettier.” 

“Each one was different,” Scott adds. “Like specific to the individual and when Stiles removed the unconscious woman’s mask…” 

“Her face was melted,” Stiles says tersely. “And her eyelids were sealed shut. I don’t think their masks are supposed to come off. Maybe they all look the same underneath.” 

The fact does not make him shudder. Okay, fine it does. 

Stiles' stomach is not built for this stuff. Not at all. He can't believe he hasn't thrown up on anyone yet. Though to be fair, he's the one who sought out dead bodies in their simpler days as teenagers. Maybe he's not as afflicted as he'd like to believe. Or he's psychotic. An equally compelling argument. 

“They said Derek belonged to them because he invaded their territory,” Scott exclaims. “And any claim to my pack was forfeit.” 

“I think that Derek’s mask is meant to be some form of punishment,” Stiles admits, voicing an idea he's been sitting on for a while. It only became clear when he saw the other masks. How starkly different they were from Derek's. Much more exquisitely designed. 

“Which is why it looks so crude and covers his entire head not just his face. Theirs were much more distinct. Beautiful even. I think they're in cahoots with that Circus. Maybe they sent him there for safekeeping. Since the Circus is always travelling so no one could track him down in time and he wouldn't escape before the new moon passed. They just didn't anticipate I'd recognise him on the flier. Some punishment, huh.” 

“But to what degree is this punishment?” Deaton wonders aloud. “Did they always intend to make his transformation permanent or...?” 

Like anyone possibly has the answer to that. What a rhetorical. Is this how he normally works? Says a lot of oddly vague things and then hopes for the best? That people will just magically figure out what to do despite him? 

Surprisingly, not that helpful. Deaton's skills need some work. 

“What’s weird is that if it’s supposed to be a territorial thing then why didn’t they take Braeden as well,” Scott says. “Why just leave her there?” 

“Because they don’t want Braeden,” Stiles announces, realisation hitting him all at once. “They want Derek.” 

Of course, out of every known werewolf in the world they want Derek. That's just how his shitty luck works. If there's something evil with questionable morals within a ten mile radius it will find Derek. Maybe try to date him before killing him. He really can't catch a break. This is why scientific study is needed. 

“Why would they want Derek?” Malia demands. “He’s just a beta.” 

But he's not just a beta, is he? Not lately. “A beta who’s just figured out how to make a full transformation,” Stiles finishes gravely. 

See, now even his progress as a human being is somehow ruining his life. How is that even possible? Or fair? Shouldn't the universe at some point step back and say _okay, dude I'll stop. Now it's just getting sad?_ It's probably never going to be enough and Derek's entire existence will forever involve wolfy oppression. Not cool. 

“What did they call him again? The evolved wolf.” 

“Evolved?” Deaton inquires, eyes lighting up with comprehension. “I believe I’ve read that somewhere in my archives. You said they believed Derek belonged to them by right? Tell me how were you able to defeat them?” 

Scott scratches sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Um, we weren’t? They ran away.” 

Deaton who’s started riffling through some of the old books strewn across the countertop pauses in his search. “They ran?” he questions with a curious tone. “Why?” 

“It was Parrish,” Stiles explains. “They could hear him coming and it frightened them somehow.” 

Stiles really want to know exactly what that somehow is. Parrish and his mysterious supernatural background are still something of an enigma to all of them. Especially Parrish. 

“This is the young deputy that survived being burnt to death?” Deaton clarifies. 

“Yeah, but he didn’t even do anything,” Scott exclaims helplessly. “Just turning up was enough to force their retreat.” 

Still super weird. 

Stiles is so not comfortable with these easy wins. First, they rescue Derek without any problems and then their first fight doesn’t even end up in a fight? It’s like an anti violence decree went around the supernatural community and they still haven’t received the memo yet. 

It’s barely a hardship though. Stiles is very okay with this simpler way of life. He’s never been so relaxed. During the day at least. Maybe whatever pheromones the Nemeton’s been expelling to lure the supernatural to Beacon Hills is finally starting to wear off. 

And wouldn’t that be a blessing? 

“You’d best keep him close by then,” Deaton advises. “From what you’ve said, it appears they won’t give up so easily. He might further deter them. You mentioned during your phone call, Scott, that one of them is in our custody? I should like to question her.” 

Scott nods. “My mom’s looking after her. She’d lost a lot of blood, but she said she’d call when she wakes up. They can't get her mask to come off.” 

Stiles doesn't ponder on that for longer than necessary. Especially when he removed it with such ease. And everyone else knows that because they watched him do it. Jesus. He's in trouble. 

“Excellent. In the meantime I’ll look over these texts to see if I can find more information on the evolved wolf as I search for another way to dispel Derek’s curse.” 

“Sounds simple enough,” Stiles says dryly. 

As Deaton makes his way back to his office, he passes by Malia’s tub and gently taps her shoulder. “I think you should be fine now, though I would suggest rethinking touching Derek’s mask in the future.” 

Malia grunts out a reply as Kira helpfully hands her a towel. She's out of there so fast she’s a blur. Bath time is clearly not a crowd favourite. 

Derek’s getting fidgety again so Stiles obligingly presses some calming clockwise circles into his skin. His fists unclench and Stiles is so glad Derek doesn’t know about this. Something tells him it would make him angry. But it’s a totally approved calming technique. It’s not just for dogs, Stiles swears. Not like Derek would see it as anything but. Jesus, if anyone tells him, he’ll be pissed for sure. 

“Alright, let’s get you back to Scott’s, buddy,” Stiles says, taking Derek’s arm and pulling him towards the exit. 

The others trail after him. 

“Actually, Stiles,” Scott starts and no, no thank you. Stiles does not like that tone. Not one bit. 

“I think Derek should stay with you. You’re the only one who can talk to him and calm him down. The last thing we need is him running off again with those masked hunters sneaking around town.” 

He could say no. It’s probably safer for him. Close proximity to Derek never ends well. Especially, if he’s trying to keep the Derek paradox under wraps. He’s in no mood to escalate any possible feelings for a dude who’s otherwise in a committed relationship. That's just sad. And depressing. Stiles just wants a good night's sleep first. 

The pleading look on Scott’s face indicates he doesn’t have much choice in the matter, though. 

“Fine,” he says. “If we get attacked you’ll be sorry. And you better avenge me like you promised.” 

Scott rolls his eyes. “Morbid much?” 

“Fragile human much?” Stiles argues back. 

When they walk out into the reception area Stiles spots a small jar of mountain ash resting on the counter. He might have ideas about that. 

“Hey Deaton,” he calls out, picking up the container. “Can I have this jar of mountain ash?” 

“Certainly,” Deaton calls back. “What do you need it for?’ 

Stiles isn’t too sure yet. It could just be nothing. 

But there are possibilities, he thinks. 

Maybe. 

“Just in case, I guess.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. How do I make you stay, When it's easier to let you go?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He drops Malia home first, because it’s on the way back to the Preserve, then Scott and Kira off, parking right next to Scott’s bike. 

“Call me if anything happens,” Scott says and Stiles nods, reversing the jeep with a wave. 

Derek’s quiet since he moved into the passenger seat, but that’s okay. Stiles knows how to fix that problem now. He leans over to touch Derek’s metal head. 

“Hey dude, you’re gonna stay at my place for a few days while Deaton looks for another solution to the spell,” he explains. “The other one didn’t work.” 

The grunt is clearly Derek code for, ‘obviously’. Which hey, communication is key here. Stiles will take what he can get. 

“How are you feeling?” You hungry?” 

Derek taps once. “Thirsty?” Another tap. 

And this is so much easier now. No more guess-what-the-werewolf-wants games. “You’re cool with staying at my place right? Scott thought it would be better since you keep running away from his house.” 

Derek gestures something with his arms, but gives up with a helpless growl when Stiles gets nothing more than a raised eyebrow from the encounter. He has to keep glancing forward, worried he’s going to run them off the road. Stiles thinks he might know what Derek’s trying to say. Sort of. 

“You wanna know why you’re not in your loft?” he ventures. “It’s not safe. No one’s there. Those masked guys are after you and you’re better off around pack at the moment. Not that I can hold off a masked hunter army, but Scott can.” 

Derek shuffles in irritation but he accepts the decision with a meagre amount of grace. Stiles will take it. 

“Do you know what the mask is doing?” he asks gently. 

He's not so sure he wants to worry the guy, but figures he owes him the truth. If it was Stiles, he'd want to be clued into all the facts at the very least. 

Derek taps no. 

“You’re stuck in a half shift and you’ve been in it so long Deaton worries you might not be able to turn into a human as easily,” Stiles explains patiently. “You’ve got until a lunar cycle passes before Deaton’s says it’ll be permanent. The new moon's in four days.” 

Of course, the first thing Derek does is lift his hands up toward his face like he plans to tear the mask of doom off himself. Figures. Stiles should have seen the typical aggressive 'act first think later' solution coming from a mile away. 

“Don’t do that!” he cries out, slapping at Derek's arms with his free hand. He may not have any hands on the wheel at that point. He quickly corrects that problem. 

“The metal is cursed to hurt anything supernatural that touches it. It somehow stops werewolf healing. Scott’s hands practically almost fell off.” 

Derek reluctantly lets his hands fall back into his lap but he tenses so much that his hands clench into tight fists. The claws actually dig into his skin, cutting it open. They do not need any self destructive qualities from him right now. 

The world keeps throwing enough of devastation his way, anyway. Knowing him, he probably just has to wait five minutes or so. 

“Hey, stop it,” Stiles scolds. “In case you haven’t noticed. You’re not healing, either.” 

Derek huffs, but relaxes his hands. So he's listening. Stiles almost can't believe it but he is. 

“Do you remember what happened?” he asks. Another double tap no. “Braeden said they caught you in Oregon.” 

Derek straightens a little at mention of Braeden and his hand movements get a little more violent when he’s gesturing so fast. Is he trying to tell Stiles something? Or ask a question? Those twisting hands could mean anything. God, he is not making this easy. 

“Yeah, she’s fine,” Stiles rushes getting confused when Derek keeps trying to ask another question. “Oh, but she’s not here? She’s still looking for the desert wolf when I called her. I- could call her again?” 

Is that an awkward suggestion? It definitely feels like one. Derek taps out no, so Stiles is spared from that possibly tender moment. Or the inevitable flame out. Whatever it is. Stiles doesn't want to know. And yet. 

“What’s your deal anyway?” he manages despite himself. “Are you like dating? She said you weren’t serious, but I mean, that’s obvious when she didn’t show after you’d been turned into the Man in the Iron Mask.” 

Derek growls angrily and reaches out toward him. 

“None of my business, sorry!” Stiles squeaks, ripping his hand away and severing contact. 

The jeep swerves a little of the road but things could’ve been worse. Stiles’ sudden heart palpitation say otherwise, though. Derek doesn’t try much else but whines a little plaintively like Stiles knows he would never have done in human form. The rejected sound makes him feel guilty and he puts his hand back again. 

The welcoming buzz is entirely rejuvenating. Stiles finds it weird how much he likes it. 

“Sorry,” he starts. “That was dickish. I probably deserved that. So you really have no idea what they did to you? How they caught you? Stuck this metal cage on your head? How long you were there until they sold you to the Circus? Nothing?” 

Derek moves his arms a little, but eventually just gives up with a frustrated shrug. Right. This 'yes' and 'no' thing is really not working for him, either. At best it’s annoying. At worst, it makes him want to tear his hair out. Because he has so many questions. 

Stiles is hit with a sudden idea. “Hey, if I got you a pen and paper, do you think you could still write?” 

Derek wags his claws in the air a little before he shrugs again. So maybe? Stiles assumes he’s saying it’ll be difficult, but manageable? At least, he hopes that’s what he’s saying. 

When they get to his house, his dad is still awake and sitting at the kitchen table, always true to his word. He has to sever the communication link to get Derek into the front door and even he knows how strange this must look. It’s lucky he’s in the know for all this supernatural stuff now, otherwise things like this would be impossible. 

Small miracles, he guesses. 

“Hey Dad,” he greets casually. “Is it cool if Derek stays over for a couple nights?” 

His dad looks shocked at the first sight of Derek and approaches them with his mouth open. “ _Jesus _. You explained everything but it’s a lot different seeing it in the flesh. Does it hurt him?”__

Huh. Stiles isn’t sure he’s thought of that before. 

“I dunno,” he says before slapping a hand onto Derek’s metal skull. “Hey Derek, does the mask actually hurt?” 

Derek grunts like he's going to be a dick and ignore him, before he shakes his head slightly. Stiles pulls his hand way, feeling pleased. One terrible thing at a time. His father looks more confused by the minute. 

“I thought he couldn’t understand anyone?” 

“He can’t. It’s only when you're connected to the mask and seeing as it’s cursed to make any supernatural creature’s hands fall off if they touch it, I’m the only one who can talk to him.” 

His dad looks even more pitying, which rude. Anyone would be lucky to have Stiles to talk to. 

“He can stay, Stiles. Just don’t torture him too much.” 

Hey. He is not _that _bad. It’s not like he rambles pointlessly. The things he talks about in vivid detail are important, alright? More or less.__

__“I resent that,” he points out. “But thanks.”_ _

Stiles leads Derek to the kitchen, grabs a glass of water- adds a straw because Derek still can’t even open his mouth wide enough to talk- then tries to find something Derek can eat. They’ve got a lot of avocados floating around so Stiles quickly whips up a green smoothie. If Derek doesn’t like it, he’ll just have to stomach it anyway. 

In the meantime, Derek hovers interestedly around the kitchen, curious to all the strange sounds Stiles’ efforts are making. When he’s done, Stiles takes the water and the smoothie upstairs hoping that Derek will stick to his earlier traits and follow. He does. Scott has trained him well. 

He puts the glasses onto his desk table and sits Derek down into the chair. With a small sigh that this is his life now, he reaches out to touch Derek’s wonder helmet. 

“You’ve been living off smoothies for the past week since your jaw is basically wired shut, so hope you like avocado,” he says, using his other hand to push the glass into Derek’s grip. “And also protein and natural fats.” 

Derek makes this weird noise, but he does fumble to get his hand around the glass and drink through the straw, so he must be cool with it. “I’m just gonna grab a pen and some paper. You do your thing. There’s another glass of water on your left.” 

Derek places his fingers to his mouth without touching the mask as he signs out thank you. Huh. Stiles had no idea he knew ASL. He knows a fair bit himself from an errant idle curiosity that wouldn't quit, and now wonders if Derek was trying to sign to him earlier and he just hadn’t been paying attention. 

Oops. 

Stiles smacks his forehead stupidly before he hurries out of the room and into the office. There's a stack of paper in the printer which he grabs along with some pens, but takes his time in case Derek feels embarrassed about drinking through a straw in front of him. Stiles doesn’t know much about werewolf pride, but it’s probably a shock to anyone to suddenly need help to do simple things they could always do alone. 

There is definitely an allocated adjustment period, for sure. 

He comes back five minutes later and Derek’s finished off both glasses, so they’re clearly a hit. Stiles moves the empty cups out of the way and creates a space for the paper. He slips a pen into Derek’s hand before he opens up the link again. 

“Okay, so the paper’s right in front of you. Just uh- write down whatever you want, I guess? And I’ll answer.” 

Derek fumbles a little at first before he gets into the rhythm of it. It’s hard because Derek’s handwriting is pretty terrible, and because he can’t see very well some of the sentences overlap on another. 

Stiles eventually makes it out, though, with some patience and heavy squinting.

 _Did they say what they wanted when they came for me? Is there a reason why they’ve done this? ___

“They said you belong to them,” Stiles mutters, anger making its way into his voice. “They referred to you as the evolved wolf.” 

Derek pauses for a second then starts scribbling furiously in such a way that makes Stiles keenly interested. Clearly, Derek knows a little more than he's let on. He leans closer to make it out when he’s finished. 

_It was definitely evolved wolf they said? I remember hearing once that evolved wolves who can make a full transformation are seen as more powerful, more respected. And highly sought after. If they’re trying to repress my human side it’s because they want the wolf. ___

“But why leave you stuck in the partial shift, then?” Stiles argues. “Why couldn’t they just force you to remain a wolf?” 

_It’s not something you force. And a partial shift werewolf is weaker and easier to control. When I lose my human aspects they’ll have no trouble coercing the full shift. There are some spells to bind a werewolf to you. Like a supernatural lapdog. And with a full shifter within reach, that kind of power is seductive. ___

“Who told you all this?” Stiles wonders, horrified to think this is what they intend for Derek. 

Stiles also can’t help but notice he’s written ‘when’ and not ‘if’ he loses his humanity for good. Shows he’s got a lot of faith in them. Or that he's not much of an optimist. When putting all of Derek's soul crushing and traumatising experiences together in one place, Stiles can certainly see why it didn't develop. 

_I just know, Stiles. You can’t let them take me. I’ll die first.” ___

And Stiles definitely doesn’t want to consider that option. Like at all. 

“It was your mom, right?” he guesses. “Peter told me she could do the full shift.” 

_Peter told you a lot of things. ___

His shoulders are hunched and angry looking. Shoulders can be angry alright? And those are some mean looking shoulders. 

Stiles doesn’t quite get it for a second before he realises Derek’s referring to him knowing about what happened with Paige. And maybe a little about Kate too. Which is weird. Cause Stiles has never mentioned anything about any of that to Derek’s face. Well, except when he’d been blabbering on pointlessly about Derek’s shitty existence while inspecting the helmet for weaknesses. 

Oh. 

And he’d been touching the mask the entire time he’d spoken. Shit. 

“Oh my God,” Stiles gasps. “Man, I am so sorry. I didn’t know you could understand me. I didn’t mean to give you the play by play of your life. I was just venting.” 

_Did you mean it? ___

Stiles flounders a little over that, because what does that even mean? Did Stiles mean it when he was telling the truth? It makes it kind of hard to be meaningful about given facts. He wonders if being under that helmet for too long means Derek might be losing it a little. 

“Mean what? I was basically ranting about all the bad crap that’s ever happened to you. The sad thing is how confident I am that it was factually accurate.” 

Derek huffs and starts scribbling again. Stiles is getting more confused by the minute. 

_You said you couldn’t believe I’m still functioning as a ‘reasonably maladjusted asshole’ I think it was. You said something about strength to survive and that I should go on vacation. Or write a memoir. Frolic in the woods. ___

Oh God, Stiles can’t believe he was stupid enough to say all of that to Derek’s face. What an idiot. He flushes helplessly and has a few terrifying seconds to think up a reasonable response. One that doesn't mortally offend, or encourage Derek to kill him. 

“Look, we all know I’m a loveable asshole. But I’m still an asshole. And yeah, I guess I meant it. But I was also giving myself a pep talk by comparing our situations. You obviously know the kind of shit you’ve been through, and I reckon I was a little furious on your behalf that this kind of crap is happening. Even now, when you’re not as big a dick as before. As soon as you get your head back you should treat yoself. Go on a vacation. Brood somewhere in the distance. Start a hobby or something. Do something you enjoy for once. I’m assuming you still enjoy things here, but I mean, you deserve to.” 

Derek pauses a little like he doesn’t quite know what to say and Stiles feels weird about the life advice he's just given to Derek Hale. They’re not usually the friendliest of people to one another. The smart mouthed bickering is where they live. Stiles has definitely never said stuff like this to Derek before. 

Well, not to his face at least. 

Stiles reads over his shoulder when Derek begins to write again. 

_Where do you want me _and Stiles nearly falls into the desk before he realises Derek’s still writing,__

_to sleep? _Of course. Good thing he didn’t answer that immediate question.__

__Though, both answers still seem to involve beds. Only one of them includes Stiles in the scenario as well. And he's completely naked._ _

“Uh,” he flounders, flushing at little. “You can take my bed, if you want?” 

Derek rumbles like he’s choking on something. It might be derisive laughter. Not that Stiles could tell. He's not entirely sure he's heard Derek laugh. At least for real, when he's not fake laughing or laughing in a totally mocking way. 

Wow, he really is an ass. No wonder Stiles has such a tight pants problem around him. Turns out he's a little attracted to assholes. 

_I’m not sleeping in a seventeen year old boy's bed ___

“Hey, I’m eighteen,” Stiles grumbles because he does not appreciate the attitude right now. “It was my birthday three weeks ago.” 

Which, why is he bothering with this? Derek doesn’t care that he’s legal. Stiles just likes to believe that he might. 

_What do you want a prize? _And why did Stiles miss the old Derek again? He’s such a dick.__

“It’s not like it’s covered in jizz,” Stiles mutters with open irritation. “You can take the couch, then. Just don’t go smashing through our living room window if you need to take a piss.” 

_You know I can still smell it now? Do you ever wash your sheets? And the only reason why I broke Scott’s window is because I could hear them. They were in Scott’s backyard tonight so I chased them out. I didn’t know that’s what they wanted. My instinct was to hunt down the intruders_

Wait. Hear who? The masked people? _That’s _why Derek ran off tonight? Have they been staking out Scott’s house the entire time and waiting to strike? Oh shit, Stiles needs to warn him. They are so unprepared for this. For one, they hadn't assumed the bad guys would find them this easily.__

“I need to warn Scott,” he says pulling out his cell phone. 

Derek grabs his wrist to stop him and frantically starts scribbling again. 

_They won’t go back there. They’re using the mask’s magic to track me. They’ll be here soon enough. Scott will be fine. ___

“And what about the rest of us?” Stiles demands, furiously. “My dad? What are we, just collateral?” 

Derek’s claws scratch nosily against the surface of the table it’s moving across the paper so quickly. 

_They won’t hurt him unless he gets in the way. And you’ll be fine. They won’t be back tonight and they’re not interested in teenage boys ___

Stiles is so close to shooting back ‘and you are?’ but he bites his tongue at the last possible second. 

This is not the time for stupid declarations. He needs to keep himself under control. “Do you want to get changed into something? Or shower? You can borrow some of my dad’s old clothes, if you want. We both know you don’t fit my stuff.” 

Derek scoffs, but scribbles out a reply. 

_This is fine, Stiles. ___

Stiles takes one look at Derek’s dirty shirt, his torn jeans and nearly black, dirty bare feet, and wisely does not comment. If Derek wants to be stubborn, Stiles can’t exactly persuade him otherwise. 

He is a grown man after all. Mostly. When he gets to bickering with Stiles, his maturity level definitely comes into question. Stiles’ maturity as well could use some debating. 

“Alright, I’ll set up the couch for you and then I’m taking a much needed shower because woods are not the cleanliest of places.” 

Derek shrugs but doesn’t write anything and when Stiles pulls his hand back he’s no longer able to hold the pen. 

It’s kind of sad that Derek has to rely on Stiles so much at the moment. It makes him feel guilty. He is not enjoying having this kind of life giving power over the guy. Would he maybe like to contribute towards or help enable the outcome of his orgasms? Absolutely. But this is so not on par with what he intended to deal with today. 

He traipses downstairs, Derek hot on his heels and sets up the couch with a pillow and some blankets. When he’s done, Derek doesn’t do anything and just stands there as if whatever labour Stiles is doing is somehow interesting. Stiles doesn’t really want to tell Derek to go to sleep or anything because that’s way too far on the things he can handle scale. 

He does pat the cushions invitingly, hoping Derek can figure it out on his own. 

When he doesn’t move, Stiles loses patience and just pushes him down onto the couch. Derek whines a little in protest, but Stiles quickly rubs a few clockwise circles into his skin before he heads up to the shower. He’s almost tempted to jerk it just to spite Derek, but it’s no fun when the actual Derek isn’t around to notice and get pissed off about it. 

Things get a little weird when he realises Derek’s followed him into the shower, though. Stiles has to lock him out and ignore the scratching on the door when he strips off all his clothes and steps under the spray. The thought of Derek outside listening to every single thing he's doing is super embarrassing and uncomfortable. 

Is this what Scott’s been dealing with the entire time? Stiles is very sorry for making fun of him. The situation sucks ass. 

He’s quick about it because he’s a little worried Derek might break down the door with his impatience and Stiles doesn’t want his dad to shoot him. Once he's clean enough, he unlocks the door with dripping hair just as Derek rushes into the room with a noise of excitement. 

He doesn’t do anything much but pace around the area inquisitively. It’s super weird. It’s even worse when Stiles rolls his eyes and moves out into the hallway where his dad is waiting with folded arms. His eyebrows are way high right now. 

“This is really weird, even for me,” he admits. 

Stiles flushes even more. This is so wrong. 

“It’s not weird,” he argues. “He’s basically like a big puppy.” 

“Stiles, he’s a grown man.” 

“Who’s got wolf brain at the moment, so don’t judge,” he protests. “In fact. It’s better to just forget you ever saw this. I know I’m trying to.” 

His dad shrugs and pats him on the shoulder on the way to his bedroom. “Works for me, kiddo. Night.” 

“Night, Dad.” 

Stiles leads Derek back downstairs and wonders if he’s going to keep trying to get into Stiles’ bedroom all night. This is not the circumstance in which he’s imagined it. If he’s imagined it at all. Not admitting anything here. 

Surprisingly, Derek’s lost interest by the time Stiles gets him to the couch again and sits down on his own. Stiles pushes at his shoulder to lie him down and pats his head. 

“Night Derek,” he says. “This is so weird.” 

Derek grunts his agreement. 

Stiles gets a jumpstart on his playlist before he goes to bed because he has a feeling seeing that woman’s face tonight has set him back severely. 

He’s not wrong. The iPod does nothing. 

It’s all melted faces and clawed hands reaching out for him in the dark. So it’s a screaming night tonight. When the clutches of the dream dragging him down loosen enough for him to be ripped into consciousness, Stiles is yelling and thrashing violently as someone else pins him down. For a horrifying moment it’s another dream, another nightmare, before his hands get into contact with something hard. 

And cold. Metal. 

His fingers buzz. 

“Derek?” he gasps, hands finding better purchase on the mask. 

He looks down at Derek’s hand pressed into his shoulder and the blackened veins of his forearm as he sucks out the residual terror, the fear. He's basically helping Stiles cheat his own painful slow recovery into normalcy again. And that's not going to fly, not at all. 

“Wait, no!” Stiles cries, struggling to get away. “Taking it is not going to help. I need to deal with it alone if I’m ever going to sleep again.” 

Derek stops immediately and rolls onto his back, lying on the opposite side of the bed with panting breaths. He must’ve come running up the stairs when Stiles’ nightmare started getting good. Stiles breathes deeply and waits for his heart to calm down on it’s own. When he’s reasonably relaxed, Stiles reaches out to re-establish the link again. 

“I- thanks. How do you do it? Scott’s never taken emotion before. Only physical pain.” 

Derek pauses a little as if he doesn’t know what Stiles is talking about. Then he shrugs. 

“Wait. Have _you _ever done it before?”__

He shakes his head. And what the hell does that mean? If he’s never done it before then how did he know he _could _do it? Werewolves are so confusing.__

“It must be a new power or something, since you evolved,” Stiles assumes. “Especially if you don’t even know what it is.” 

It takes him a moment before he realises that he’s actually lying in bed with Derek Hale and not the werewolf version. His heart rate jumps a little and Derek abruptly sits up, turning away and severing the connection. 

Ouch. If he’d been any clearer, he would’ve punched Stiles in the face. There goes that unanswered question. Stiles just sighs as Derek trudges out of the room and digs into the sheets to find his lost earbuds. 

It’s going to be a long night. No surprises there.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It turns out stubborn optimism isn't enough to get Derek free of his death trap. 

The previous method of attack, sitting around and hoping things will work out for them also fails pretty morbidly. The masked woman eventually wakes up in the hospital, but doesn't speak a word of how to free Derek. Or any other words really. Not even when Deaton goes to visit her. He does, however, use some of his skills to keep her there so she can't use any sneaky magic to escape. 

Scott's mom keeps them updated on her recovery but she's healing rapidly enough that Melissa might not be able to hold her there much longer. She's already pretty much a celebrity with the strange mask stuck to her face. A lot of the doctors want to know why they can't remove it. They ask almost as many questions. 

With another dead end, the days pass quickly and the worry that they won't be able to do anything has everyone on edge. Stiles keeps Derek at his place, with as much space as he can manage because it's not really an ideal situation while Scott combs the woods for the rest of the masked hunters. 

No one's seen them since that night in the woods. 

They're down to two days left when Deaton still hasn’t found anything. They’ve got until 6pm tomorrow before the moon completes it lunation and Derek is trapped as he is forever. Since Deaton’s been letting them down lately in that regard, everyone’s huddled in Stiles’ living room to do some ancient reading of their own that Lydia's procured along with what Stiles located on the internet. 

They're going to try and solve this on their own. It's hardly a new turn of events for them. 

They’re all reading through some article, book or other. Even Malia, who looks so angry she might tear her book in half in a fit of explosive rage. There's a questionable amount of empty coffee mugs scattered around the room. 

Stiles is so not used to all this silence in a group of this size, especially not his friends. Parrish is even here. Although, that is understandably more weird because he’s not in uniform. They’d explained how he'd scared off the masked hunters and despite being surprised at first, he's had no trouble taking on the bodyguard role for the time being. Whenever he hasn't been at work. 

It’s their first successful study group. 

Too bad it’s because Derek’s humanity is on the line, or whatever. 

The subject in question, is currently sprawled across Stiles’ lap on the couch, heavy metal near bruising his thighs since Derek figured out that Stiles will give him the circle touch whenever he asks for it. And he particularly enjoys it along his neck. So he asks for it a lot. 

Stiles is very careful to avoid touching the metal helmet, though. If Derek knew how affectionate he's suddenly become in his wolfy form, his head might explode. It's safer to keep him in the dark at the moment. At least until the helmet goes and they can never talk about it again. He might be annoyed at Derek for taking advantage if he isn’t so impressed with his wolf’s blatant exploitation of Stiles’ services. 

He’s a pushover, really. 

Stiles is in the middle of reading something that might be helpful when the doorbell rings. He’s attention is so diverted between reading and pressing easy clockwise circles into the skin of Derek’s neck, that he doesn’t bother to look up. 

“Stiles?” It’s his dad. 

And why does his voice sound so strange? 

“Mmm?” he wonders around the pen in his mouth. 

He's been taking notes of anything he thinks might help. But when there’s no further words spoken, Stiles realises he’s missing a social cue somewhere and looks up. 

It’s his dad alright. And standing right next to him is- 

“Braeden,” Stiles cries, spitting the pen out of his mouth in surprise and not understanding their odd expressions until she pointedly observes Derek’s head. 

Pillowed in Stiles' lap while he basically gives him neck rubs. Oh shit. If he wasn't already used to this bizarreness, this situation might look a little hard to explain. “Wait,” he protests, shoving Derek away. “This isn’t weird. Derek’s kind of acting like a puppy.” 

Since it's been happening so often, nobody else even bothers to comment on it anymore. It's really not as weird as it seems. 

Scott just sighs. “We talked about the dog jokes, Stiles.” 

“I can’t help it, if it’s true,” he argues back. 

It's frustrating how easy Derek makes it for Stiles to be an asshole. Braeden ignores their exchange and watches Derek closely in that critically analysing way she does to size up her next move. “Can he talk?” 

“Sort of. The spell's barrier stops anything supernatural from touching the mask. You should be able to though.” 

Braeden approaches Derek slowly and he’s sitting up fully on the couch by now, seemingly confused by all the sudden tension. One would think he’d be more excited to see his girlfriend. That should be a given. Stiles glances at his friends and tries to move a little out of Braeden’s way. 

Everyone seems fairly interested to see what will happen, except Lydia who has this strange, decisive glint in her eye. In the next breath, Braeden reaches out and slowly places her hand onto Derek’s metal skull. There’s a faint humming in the air, which seems like a good sign before she gasps and wrenches her hand back. 

So not a good sign. At all. 

“Ow,” she says more in shock than pain. “It zapped me.” 

“No, but see that’s part of the spell,” Stiles explains eagerly and quickly demonstrates by placing his hand on Derek’s head. “It’s sort of buzzes like touching a livewire. Hey Derek, Braeden’s here.” 

Derek really jumps for joy at the announcement. As in he does nothing. At all. 

He doesn’t even make a gesture to ask for paper and pen which is probably his subtle way of not wanting to talk to her. Super mature. Instead he just gets tense. Really tense. But then again, Braeden doesn’t try to touch his mask again either so a desire not to communicate must be a common thing for the both of them. No wonder they haven’t defined their relationship. 

Stiles quickly pulls his hand back and winces a little when Derek makes a rough noise and tries to follow it to keep the connection. Which is so contrary. Like he wants Stiles to talk to him but then he doesn’t want to say anything in reply via paper? Rude. 

Braeden watches the reaction with a controlled expression and Stiles suddenly feels like a massive dick. 

This is exactly why he didn’t want Derek staying at his place. He didn’t want to seem like some kind of homewrecker. Not that he’s in any position to do so. There is literally nothing going on between him and Derek. Except for the fact that Derek’s wolf likes Stiles' massages. And Stiles still has the whole 'feelings' thing he's trying to keep under wraps. 

It's all fairly harmless. 

But now. That’s exactly how it _doesn’t _look. Perfect.__

“Deaton still hasn’t found anything,” Stiles informs her, quickly climbing to his feet and pretending to stretch as an excuse to create some space between him and Derek. 

He silently prays Derek won't follow him like he does constantly. Literally everyone in the pack has had the awkward experience of Derek following them all the way to bathroom to interrupt the business of relieving themselves. Things might have been more horrific, if Stiles hadn't been nice enough to warn them to lock the bathroom door first. 

“We’re all trying to do some research before the deadline at six o'clock tomorrow.” 

Braeden glances around the rest of the group, to the piles and piles of books, scattered loose paper and empty coffee mugs, and frowns. “ _That’s _all you’ve got?”__

“That’s the best we can do,” Scott clarifies in a hard tone because he's not going to let Braeden push them around. If she'd bothered to show up a week ago then she'd know just how hard this entire thing has been on everyone. Stiles wants to show his support of Scott's assessment but also doesn't want to get punched in the face so he keeps quiet. “We haven’t got many options right now. We’re running out of time.” 

“Is there anything I can do?” 

There's a semi awkward pause when the pack is all thinking the same thing: maybe Braeden could have turned up when all of this actually went down in the first place? But nobody feels like starting _that _fight. Braeden will probably finish it. With multiple assault weapons.__

“Pull up a seat and get reading?” Kira suggests, handing her a particularly heavy book. 

Braeden accepts it with a bemused expression before she sits down onto the carpet and cracks it open. Everyone else goes back to studying their own sources of information. It's all very nerdy. But seeing as lives are on the line there's a lot more desperation to it. 

Stiles goes back to reading and tries to ignore Derek as much as possible. Which is really hard when Derek starts growling and pawing at Stiles’ leg. He valiantly ignores it for as long as he can. Never let it be said that Stiles can't ignore things until they go away and stop causing problems for themselves and their mercenary girlfriends. 

“For god sakes, Stiles,” Lydia snaps, finally losing her temper. “Just give him what he wants. Braeden doesn’t care.” 

When Braeden says nothing on the subject and doesn't pull out any weapons, he gives up with a helpless sigh and starts a clockwise circle on Derek’s wrist, making his way up his forearm. Derek relaxes back into the couch again with a satisfied sound. But he doesn't lie down in Stiles' lap again which is a blessing. 

Derek's head junk near Stiles' actual junk is a highly dangerous combination. In more ways than one. 

“What are you doing exactly?” Braeden wonders, curious as to what the hell kind of service Stiles is performing on her boyfriend. 

Actual relationship status pending. 

His face flushes with heat because as if this isn't embarrassing enough with half of the pack smelling and hearing just how tied up in knots this makes him. Especially when one of the more sensory aware pack members happens to be his ex girlfriend. And she knows exactly what he smells like whenever he's into something. 

He is definitely into Derek. No point arguing that now. Though he will, for all intents and purposes, argue and vehemently deny any such thing until he is very much dead. 

“It’s this touch that’s sends out electrical impulses to calm both humans and animals. Derek’s wolf um- likes it.” 

“A lot,” Malia adds unhelpfully with a telling smirk. 

The traitor. 

Braeden purses her lips a little, but doesn’t say anything else about it. Thank God, Stiles can’t take any more problems right now. 

Luckily tomorrow’s Saturday so they have as much time at their disposal to comb through all of the information. They can stay up as late as they want. Well, except for Stiles. This is about how much sleep he usually gets. Braeden leaves around 1am with this distant look on her face that’s a little shellshocked by the events of the evening. And probably the heinous amount of reading she had to do. 

Stiles regrets that the most. At the 2am mark everyone gives up and crashes in Stiles’ living room, except Parrish who has to work the evening shift tomorrow and offers to drive anyone home. 

Only Lydia accepts. 

Stiles gives up half an hour later when his eyes are blurring so much he can’t read the words on the page. He trudges up to his bedroom with a yawn. Blearily he locates his iPod, shoves the earbuds into his ears and selects BREATHE, DON’T DIE to put him down. 

The day has been so stressful and exhausting that Stiles fall asleep instantly. 

And he just sleeps. All the way through the night. 

Eight hours, at least.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


On D-day Stiles wakes up an entirely different person. No nightmares. No dreams. Nothing. Just sleep. 

Stiles can’t believe it. He knows he’s nowhere near out of the woods yet but its such a relief to know that he can do it, that it doesn’t matter how long it’s going to take him to get there. Stiles will sleep without a single nightmare every night. It’s going to happen. Future life goals. 

He and the rest of the pack blearily make breakfast, bacon and eggs for all; the blended version for Derek and they all pile around his kitchen counter. His dad is staring at everyone like he can’t believe how many supernatural friends Stiles has. 

The humans may be a little outnumbered at the moment. They get back to reading after that. It sucks, because they haven't found anything and with the deadline so close Stiles is starting to worry they never will. 

That is before Lydia shows up around 1pm with some archaic Latin text she’s translated, a cup of coffee and a frown on her face. Interrupting the final stages of their frantic study session now that time is really running out. 

“They’re called Dalkhu,” she announces without preamble. “It’s basic Sumerian for demons, or evil spirits. They’re ancient pagans. Like Mesopotamian ancient, been around since the beginning of civilisation, collecting powerful supernatural beings as slaves. They created Cynocephali which are basically an ancient race of dog-headed men, and a fierce warrior tribe. They're trying to recreate that in Derek by forcing him to transform into a wolf permanently and binding him to their cause.” 

Which. Not so astounding. They are basically glorified pet owners. Bad pet owners. 

It’s what they’ve been assuming, anyway. It’s hardly the big reveal Lydia was going for. Though, it should be, considering how many hours they spent combing through mythology and ancient texts. 

Stiles' eyes still feel like they're about to fall out. 

“They’re powerful too,” Lydia explains. “I can’t find any weaknesses besides fearing Jordan and seeing as we don’t understand what he is, that doesn’t help us.” 

The full sleep has mellowed Stiles out some. He’s not that worried. They still have time, yet. Deaton’s still searching. They’re still searching, too. It’s fine. 

“You hear that Derek?” Stiles says slapping a hand onto the helmet. “Lydia says the guys are after you to make you their pet. What do you plan to do about it?” 

They’ve taken to carrying around pen and paper since they’ve figured out Derek can write. Which he tends to only do whenever his girlfriend isn't present. There's something telling about that, for sure. He scrawls out a reply. 

_I don’t know, Stiles how about I just send these ancient beings an email politely declining the offer? It doesn’t matter what I do they’ve been doing this for centuries. They’re pros. What's Scott's plan? ___

Kira smiles at that and Scott looks immensely pleased with himself. Stiles just rolls his eyes because of course, Derek can still sass him at a time like this. 

“Kissass,” he mutters and Derek pretends to swipe out at him with his claws. 

At least, Stiles hopes he’s just messing around. Those sharp instruments of destruction did come a little too close for comfort. He doesn't even want to think what Derek will be like if this is permanent. Probably, not good. 

Before Scott can answer though with his big, bad alpha plan, his phone buzzes. 

“Deaton’s got the formula,” he announces, broad grin breaking out across his face. The relief Stiles feels is entirely staggering. “He says to get to the Clinic as soon as we can.” 

Well. That works out pretty good. Stiles has no complaints on timing, for once. “Deaton figured out the cure,” he tells Derek, helpfully. “We’re heading over to the Clinic now.” 

Derek hesitates for a second before he responds. 

_He’s only suddenly figured it out now? What if it’s a trap? ___

Stiles pats him on the shoulder with a bemused smile. “You and your negativity, man. Can’t you just accept something worked out for you, for once?”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s a trap. 

Stiles really should have seen it coming. Things don’t work out for Derek. Ever. It’s been proven. They should have seen this from a mile away.

Well, to be fair. Derek _did _.__

__If he ever gets back to normal Derek, Stiles might even think of apologising. So much for nice and easy._ _

____

They’ve barely climbed out of Stiles’ jeep- there were a lot of people sitting on laps, his father would not be pleased- before two masked hunters are coming out of the Clinic, long scythe like weapons drawn and bearing down on them. 

____

Derek is too far away for Stiles to reach out and stop him. 

His head snaps up at the first scent of danger and he just loses it, bounding forward to attack. The long sharp weapons they conceal within the sleeves of their clothing make a terrible sound at first contact with skin. He howls in pain, and Stiles sickeningly understands where the painful lashes on his back came from as the long cut opens up on his forearm. 

Scott shifts with a growl and Malia follows soon after just as the other three remaining masked hunters box them all in from behind. 

Kira is weaponless and doesn’t fully understand her other kitsune powers enough to use any defensively and Lydia can’t scream without incapacitating everyone. And Stiles. Well, he can’t do much of anything without a weapon. 

They really did walk straight into this ambush. Utterly unprepared and vulnerable. So, it's basically like every other supernatural fight they've been in. And those always end _so _well.__

It’s utter bedlam. Everyone’s attacking at once and Stiles can barely figure out who he’s trying to avoid hitting. 

A masked hunter gets right in his business, weapon slashing and catching Stiles on the leg. He stumbles to his knee, crying out in pain as his skin splits open beneath the denim and the hunter looms over him. His brain is a mess of poorly remembered defensive techniques and incapacitating moves he'll never perform correctly. He's got nothing. 

Unless. 

It’s a desperate move but Stiles doesn’t have any other options. 

Before the masked hunter delivers a fatal blow, Stiles pushes up into his space, gets his fingers around the edge of the mask and _pulls _. The buzzing sounds more like a wailing klaxon as it rips off violently under his touch and he's barely greeted with the sight of yet another highly disturbing melted face, before the screaming erupts.__

Agonised, painful screaming. 

The exposed hunter falls to his knees, tearing at his skin and the tortured sounds are much more awful than something Stiles could have ever dreamt up. It makes him shiver all over, hackles rising as his ears feel like they might be bleeding. 

The fighting seems to pause around them at the very loud distraction, all watching the hunter writhe in sick fascination. His skin starts to rapidly peel off and Stiles quickly regrets his earlier decision. It's a clumsy effort but he tries to reapply the mask back onto his face to cover up the awful sight. 

It won’t stay on, though. It won't even let him attach it as if some unspoken force is preventing him from doing so. 

The man collapses face forward onto the ground before disintegrating into dust. 

The only vestiges of his existence is the mask still in Stiles' grip. It’s absolutely terrifying. He would not like to replay the moment. 

He glances down at the mask in alarm, surprised to see the colour has drained out of it. Only now that the hunter is dead. As if it's a lifeforce. 

Is that what these masks are? Their source of life? It would explain why the woman didn’t die when he’d removed it in the woods. Since, she was already close to death anyway it hadn’t mattered when he’d hastily stuck it back on. Then when they’d treated her in the hospital it couldn’t be removed again. Only after she was restored to full health. 

This guy obviously needed that mask to live a lot more than she did. 

Stiles turns to face the rest of the group with a sheepishly traumatised expression. He hadn’t actually planned to kill anyone. It’s not what he’d label a happy accident, but it’s close enough. He’s a lot more shocked when he realises the scream did a number on the rest of his pack. 

They’ve all collapsed into various heaps on the ground. Everyone but Derek who’s still fighting furiously. Right, because the mask limits his hearing. It's probably the only instance where having the metal junk on his head has actually been a good thing. 

For once. But then why didn't Stiles pass out? Is it because he was the one to remove the mask? 

Stiles drops it in astonishment and steps forward to do something just as Scott stirs nearby with a groan. 

Jesus, that scream must have packed a bigger punch than even Lydia’s. He spots her strawberry blonde hair splayed haphazardly across the concrete where she’s collapsed as well. Not so immune after all. Stiles really wishes she hadn't broken her winning streak. 

Scott is barely getting to his knees when it becomes clear that Derek’s about to be outnumbered. He makes a desperate noise and suddenly breaks free of their outstretched hands just as they start closing in. Stiles is just starting forward to do something, anything, when Derek comes flying towards him and tackles him to the ground. 

He cries out in pain as he hits the gravel hard and then Derek’s hands are everywhere, scrambling at him like he’s trying to dig his way into his skin. And it’s definitely not in the fun way. There is a lot of claws involved. Holy shit. 

He cries out just as the masked hunters swarm around them and tear Derek off. Stiles barely scrambles to his feet before he watches them disappear into a cloud of dark smoke, taking Derek with them. 

Fuck. That is like the exact _opposite _of what he wanted.__

__In the aftermath of the attack, he has time to catalogue some of his injuries. He’s scratched up and bleeding, from Derek no less and the cut from the masked hunter's weapon is painful but not deep. He reaches Malia first and quickly shakes her awake._ _

She comes to with claws swinging. “Where’s Derek?” she gasps once she recognises him. 

“Gone,” he mutters angrily and moves toward Lydia. 

She’s already awoken by now and seems equally as pissed by the ambush. 

“That was some scream,” she admits and allows him to help her to her feet. “Did you kill him?” 

“I didn’t mean to,” Stiles sighs. “The masks are connected to their life force. That’s why they never take them off.” 

Scott’s already helped Kira up a few metres away. She has an open cut on her forehead that’s bleeding but otherwise she looks okay. Everybody does. Everyone but Derek. 

“What about the woman in the woods?” Kira asks. 

Stiles shrugs and wipes idly at the blood on his leg. “She was already close to death so it didn’t matter as much. I reattached it quicker than I did him so that’s probably why she isn’t dead too.” 

“Deaton,” Scott remembers before he runs up the steps and disappears into the Clinic. 

He comes out five minutes later with a baffled looking Deaton and Scott is still helpfully removing all of the rope they tied him up with. At least they didn't kill him. 

“They surprised me in my office,” Deaton informs them a little breathlessly. “Used me to bring you here so they could take Derek.” 

“Why did he attack you like that before they grabbed him, Stiles?” Scott asks him. 

Stiles shrugs a little dejectedly, figuring the feral side to him might be coming out much easier when the dark moon's approach is so near. 

Or. Derek’s hands were everywhere, not attacking in as much as _searching _. He couldn’t have? But he’s done it before. Why not now? Hardly daring to breathe, Stiles reaches for his back pocket and feels nothing but torn fabric.__

__A sudden gasp leaves his mouth._ _

“He took my cell phone,” he announces, brimming with sudden enthusiasm. “We need to get a computer so we can track him.” 

Scott doesn’t seem as convinced. “But they disappeared with _magic _. They could be anywhere in the world right now. They could be back in Oregon.”__

“I don’t believe so,” Deaton says. “Travelling that far requires a lot of power which can be taxing if they plan to complete this ritual of binding Derek to them immediately after his humanity is lost tonight. I would guess they’re still somewhere in Beacon Hills. Probably, the Preserve as it’s the most remote.” 

Okay. They can do this. They can get Derek back. Stiles is not going to allow more terrifically shitty things happen to him anymore. The unpleasantness that is his life, ends now. Stiles is breaking the cycle. 

“Can we use your computer, Deaton?” Stiles asks. “So I can track my cell signal?” 

“Of course,” he agrees gesturing helpfully towards the building. Stiles is already moving. “And although they did use the offer of a cure to lure you here, I have in fact concocted a remedy I believe will be strong enough to unlock Derek’s mask.” 

Great. Here’s hoping this one actually has a success rate higher than zero. Deaton hasn’t set the standards too high so far. That could definitely do with some changing. 

“Someone should call Braeden,” he adds as an afterthought. “We’re gonna need guns.” 

He quickly discovers that his cell phone is on. They trace it deep into the Preserve, so far out that it nearly reaches the boundary for the next town over. 

The masked hunters are smart. It’s too deep in the woods to arrive by vehicle. They’ll have to trek on foot. It will take hours. Hours they’re running low on. Three at least. And it’s nearly two thirty now. They’ll only have about half an hour difference between their estimated time of arrival and the deadline of the moon's waxing. It’s going to be a close one. Which is not new to them. 

Scott calls Braeden and she agrees to meet them at the edge of the Preserve in five minutes. 

“Do you have any mountain ash here?” Stiles wonders once he’s finished and Scott’s got the vial of zap-a-curse in his grip. 

It’s black and Stiles doesn’t dwell on their previous success rate. This one is going to work and it’ll be powerful enough to unlock Derek’s face. They will get their grumpy beta back. Please, let it work. 

Deaton frowns, and goes to search through his cupboards. “No,” he apologises. “I’m afraid you took the last one.” 

“Alright, we have to stop at my place first,” he says pulling out his keys. 

Scott looks worried. “What is the plan here, Stiles?” he wonders. “Do you have one? Because you haven’t said much.” 

“We just need to get to Derek,” Stiles says. “Dump the potion on his head. Shoot anything else that tries to kill us. We’ll make the rest up as we go. The usual.” 

Everyone kind of hesitates to speak after that. Stiles knows he’s been a little erratic lately, but that doesn’t mean he can’t be trusted to make any decisions. Especially ones of this magnitude. Their best bet at this point is no plan, really. Keeping it loose leaves more room for error. And adaptability. 

“Okay, man,” Scott agrees like that’s all he needs. “We’re with you.” 

Has Stiles mentioned he loves this guy? It’s this kind of unquestionable trust that makes them best buddies. Although, Stiles will admit it’s gotten Scott into trouble in the past, gotten them both into trouble (spoiler: Scott’s sudden wolvelihood). Knowing someone’s always got his back as doggedly as Scott does is something he’ll cherish forever. 

If he can just quit with the dog puns already, life will be golden (fact: he can’t. They’re just too good). 

“C’mon,” Malia insists, eager to get back into the woods again. “Let’s go.” 

They don’t need further encouragement than that.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Braeden is already waiting impatiently at the Preserve when they finally show up. 

Stiles has the jar of mountain ash in his pocket along with a backpack full of water, snacks, a flashlight, his two radio transceivers and a first aid kit. He’s itching to get moving and he can’t seem to keep his leg still while they quickly distribute the weight of the rest of their supplies. It still stings a little from the masked hunter's cut but Deaton patched him up before they left so it's a dull pain he can live with. 

It doesn't take too long to realise how prepared Braeden is. She’s brought a lot of guns. 

Great. That’ll work, for sure. Not that anyone but Stiles knows how to use them. Lydia, maybe.

Malia and Braeden lead the front of the group, as the pack's expert tracker and expert killer it’s strategically logical to place them there. Kira is behind them with Lydia in the middle and Scott bringing up the rear, protecting everyone’s backs. 

Naturally, Stiles walks with Scott. He’s always with Scott. Til death, probably. 

“So, the mountain ash?” Scott asks as they set off from the main trail, the setting sun bearing hotly down on their necks. 

Stiles is sweating and profusely glad they brought so many bottles of water. Even if it feels like he’s carrying half of it. 

He can’t really explain it. There’s an irrefutable method to the madness that he can’t quite pin down, yet. Just an intuitive feeling like he’s going to need that jar of ash. Or he might be able to use it. An instinct. And they’ve been dealing with all of this crap so often lately it’s pretty remiss to do anything but trust it. 

“I dunno man,” he admits. “I’ve just got this feeling I might be able to do something with it. But it’s like on the tip of my tongue what it is.” 

Scott accepts the explanation with a nod of understanding. They’re desensitised to the weirdness of these kind of suspect feelings. 

When Stiles trips over a rock, Scott snags his elbow to stop him face planting and breaking some bones. That’s so _not _the agenda for the day. Stiles throws an arm around his shoulder in gratitude.__

“I get it,” Scott tells him because he is basically an awesome dudebro who also happens to be a hero. A wolfy hero. “And I noticed you were asleep, even after I woke up this morning.” 

Stiles’ grin actually hurts a little. “Oh dude, like a whole eight hours. I didn’t dream _at all. _”__

“That’s awesome,” Scott agrees, eyes lighting up. “What do you think helped?” 

Like specifically? Stiles is pretty sure it’s a various collection of things that have eased his condition along the way. The question might be too broad to reduce it to one simple fix. Stiles is literally a work in progress here. 

“I made a playlist, I guess?” he offers, starting with the easiest part to explain. “I’m nowhere near cured, though. But it’s getting easier. Listening to music when I fall asleep helps me wake up without screaming. And I’ve been researching the details of my sleeping patterns, helping me get my head around it.” 

Scott nudges his shoulder gently. “That’s so great. Only you would turn something so terrible into a task you can hyper focus on.” 

Stiles will only accept that as the deserving compliment that it is. “I work with what I got,” he admits with a sly smirk. 

The eight hours really feels like a turning point for him right now. In a good way. Oh, he knows he’s still going to get triggered by stuff. Probably by what occurs in the next few hours if the outcome is less desirable than expected. But he can handle it. 

This is just more shit that might pile on top of him but which he won't let bring him down. Walking around with a hole in his chest taught him that much already. He can deal. And now he knows he’ll always be able to. 

It hasn’t killed him yet. 

“Oh, by the way if we can’t get the mask off, we have to kill Derek,” Stiles informs Scott casually. 

Better bring that to the table when they have time to discuss it rationally. Scott is so distracted by the declaration that he doesn’t dodge the branch Lydia pushes out of the way and it smacks him in the face instead. He’s all red and flustered when he’s finished spitting out most of the brambles. 

“Not this again, Stiles,” he begs a little desperately. “If you like him, just say you like him.” 

Stiles half ducks low, systematically checking Braeden didn’t hear while he smacks Scott unforgivingly in the chest. “I’m not talking about- shut up, okay? Derek said he’d rather die than be their slave. So, by proxy if we don’t make it in time we have to kill him.” 

Scott is a little less protesting but a lot more serious about the gravity of his words. It _is _some serious business. Not gonna lie. Scott shakes some of the brambles out of his hair with a sigh.__

__“What is it with you and continually trying to kill, Derek Hale?”_ _

And alright. Scott does have a point. There is a pattern emerging if one bothers to look close enough. But Stiles is suggesting it purely as a means to protect Derek from further traumatic events. By now he’s clearly had enough. The last thing he needs is to become someone ancient, evil cult’s pet. It’s basically like a mercy killing so the universe might stop shitting all over Derek Hale’s life. 

Stiles is being the good guy here. This is what Derek suggested after all. What he wants. 

Though again, Derek’s decision making skills come into question when he’s had not one, not two, but probably _three _psychotic girlfriends. And exactly all of them have killed people. What the hell, man? Does Derek smell blood in the air and then decide he wants to date it? Plus, nearly half of them have tried to kill everyone Stiles knows and loves.__

__It’s a wonder Derek hasn’t taken a vow of celibacy after that. Or maybe he has, if Stiles is being honest about the super weird vibes between him and Braeden at the moment. That could also be attributed to Derek’s wolfy status though. Braeden’s never seemed too keen on the werewolf thing. Stiles can probably attest that to the great big slashing scars running up the side of her neck, though._ _

____

Everyone's got their reasons. 

____

Braeden unexpectedly turns around to look at them with narrowed eyes and Stiles knows for certain. Yep. Three murderous girlfriends. Absolutely. No doubt. If there is an alternate universe where he might have the potential to date Derek, he sincerely hopes its not like a Scott Pilgrim situation where he has to fight them all. That’d be weird. And he’d probably lose. Maybe. 

Or he’ll outsmart them all. Depends on what day it is. 

“I’m not exactly dealing the death blow here,” Stiles grumbles once she’s looked away again and they’re in relative safety. “I’m just saying that’s what Derek said. So if you were to do the honourable thing,…” 

“What? I’ll just stone cold break his neck? But in an honourable way? Jesus, Stiles that’s messed up. You trying to give _me _nightmares now?”__

Stiles scoffs because don’t even get him started on nightmares. Scott doesn’t even want to begin making those kind of comparisons. “This is like absolute last resort. I’m not talking kill Derek as soon as you look at him, but if the situation gets out of control…” 

“You’re still saying kill Derek Hale, though,” Scott protests and fine, maybe he has a point there. But still. 

“No. I mean, why would anyone take Derek Hale’s advice when it comes to making wise decisions? I’m just relaying information to you. Do with it what you will.” 

Scott huffs out a groan. “So nothing. I will do nothing with that information because Derek’s going to be fine.” 

“Derek doesn’t even know what that means. If he’s going to be anything, it’s visiting a psychiatrist.” 

“Will you both shut up about Derek already?” Lydia snaps spinning around with her hands on her hips. Uh oh. Stiles already doesn’t like the direction this is heading. Angry Lydia is not his friend. But she might be his executioner. “We’re not even there yet and I want to commit murder.” 

“Scott started it,” Stiles grouses, stubbornly pushing his best friend under the metaphorical bus because Lydia is almost as frightening to him as Parrish is to the masked hunters. 

It’s self-preservation. Stiles really wishes the guy isn’t responsible enough to be working his shift right now instead of calling in sick like a normal monster hunter would have. His dad would’ve allowed it. 

In the face of mortal peril, surely they could’ve come to some agreement. But no. Parrish needs to protect the innocent people of Beacon Hills. What a jerk. 

“Hey!” Scott objects, not enjoying being thrown to the lions. Given the idiom, one would think it seems like a pleasant experience. 

“I don’t care,” she hisses. “I’ll finish it.” 

“Yeah,” Kira agrees warily. “I’m all for keeping the killing Derek talk to a minimum.” 

Braeden’s head whips back to give them a scary look after she overhears that last part. Stiles regrets bringing it up in the first place. So much for trying to do the right thing. Ish. 

Hiking is actually pretty tiring. With the sun beating down on them it’s slow, sweaty work. 

Stiles is pretty much cursing the masked hunters the entire time he continually trips over tree roots. For being so dastardly brilliant. At making Stiles sweat, at the very least. 

The sun sets quicker than he’d like and nightfall is sinking in faster than he can keep up with the rapidly closing window of opportunity. Braeden has a map where she’s marked out Derek’s coordinates and Malia is leading them through the most direct path to get to him. He thinks she might be more interested in this stage of the operation rather than actually rescuing Derek. 

To each their own, he guesses. This is her thing. 

Stiles is not under any delusions that they basically ruined her life by forcing her to shift back into a human. Where she knows she killed half her family, met her psychopathic biological father and people are trying a lot harder to kill her. Stiles can’t really argue that she’s better off back in the woods at this point. 

Although, with the humans she can eat pop tarts. So there is that. 

Kira’s already gotten out her flashlight and Stiles is quick to follow, since he’s been stumbling all over the forest with perfect twenty/twenty vision. He’s gonna need all the help he can get now. Darkness is not particularly his friend. Maybe his douchebag ally. Like Jackson. If he isn’t still over the other side of the world being a douchebag there. 

Is it sad he’s basically the only success story that they know of? Able to leave Beacon Hills without dying. Well, him and Cora. And Ethan but he wasn't really much of a pack member anyway and left pretty quickly after Aiden died. Oh and Isaac, but his safety is pretty much guaranteed since he left with Chris Argent. 

It’s not exactly a heart-warmingly long list of triumph. Their not-dying thing could use some work. Now’s a good time as any to turn over a new leaf. They’re using the worst subject as the new symbol of hope, though. Derek's record does not make him a viable candidate. 

Whatever, they can deal. 

“How much time do we have left?” Scott wonders when he helpfully moves Stiles out of the way of a behemoth sized spider web. 

Braeden checks her watch. “Forty five minutes until the dark moon.” 

Shit. That is a lot of closer than Stiles had thought. “How much further?” 

“A few miles. This terrain has slowed us down. We’re looking at about a ten minute window to free Derek.” 

Shit. This is going to be hella close. Knowing their luck it’s going to boil down to the exact minute. Probably dramatic enough to make it to the final seconds. 

Stiles’ heart thumps out a furious beat at the thought. They might not be equipped for this. 

Kira downloaded a lunar cycle app on her iPhone earlier and has set it on a countdown. She's taken to informing them on the hour how much time they’ve got left. When they reach the half an hour mark Stiles very, very politely tells her to shut up because it’s only making them edgier. 

Scott still glares at him, though, when Kira quickly apologises. 

As if by silent unanimity, everyone increases their pace a little after that. Which is surprisingly brave when most of them don’t have incredible werewolf sight and need a flimsy flashlight to walk properly. The pack’s always been made of stronger stuff than anyone typically suspects of a group of teenagers. 

It’s probably why Beacon Hills isn’t overrun with supernatural beasts at the moment. They should feel proud of that. 

When of course, they’re not racing against time to save the biggest ever werewolf dumbass, Derek Hale. 

Right. Time to focus. Stiles does his best to keep up with everyone else. It’s easier to just point his flashlight at the ground, which he does. He keeps the tripping to a minimum that way and Scott catches him if there’s any other spectacular near accidents. 

It’s much harder to see in the woods this time when the new moon is almost upon them. There’s the barest sliver of the moonlight showing in the sky and Stiles knows very soon they won’t see even that. 

The sudden howl explodes through the trees is startling and the rage in it sets Stiles’ teeth on edge. He spins to stare at Scott and his eyes are alpha red. 

“Was that-?” Lydia whispers softly, a little shaken. 

It’s absolutely not a nice sound. Seems like Derek’s being tortured again. Must be another day that ends in a Y. 

Stiles still feels like he's going to throw up, though. 

“Yeah,” Scott confirms, clearly dismayed. “We should hurry.” 

They do. Kira draws her sword and the slice of it leaving the scabbard is deafening in the stillness. 

The only benefit of the pitch darkness is that they actually see the glow of the masked hunter's camp first. 

It’s definitely not a natural glow. Especially seeing at the colour is a violent, bloody red. Did they have to make it red? Surely they could’ve gone with green. Green’s definitely more associated with magic. Stiles has certainly never seen a red skinned witch. Green is the less creepy option, for sure. Red is- well it’s just bloody, really. And evil. Super evil. 

“Flashlights off!” Scott hisses and everyone hastily complies. 

In hushed silence, they wait to see if they’ve been spotted. When no masked individuals come flying out of the woods to attack, Stiles figures they’re in the clear. Braeden wasn’t lying about the high stakes when Kira whispers something about only nine minutes left as Scott starts directing everyone where to go. 

The plan is to approach from every side. So that the hunters won’t know which person to target first. That way Scott can slip through their guard and pour the vial of charmed mojo on Derek’s majestical helmet. Braeden’s highly armed to her teeth and despite Stiles' encouragement she’s kept the weapons to herself. It doesn’t matter, Stiles brought his bat this time so he’s got some protection at least. 

He’s not really planning on killing any more masked hunters. Not when the resulting effects knock out every other person in his pack with the concussive sound. 

Lydia’s the only one without a weapon but it’s not like she needs one. She is the weapon. 

Whatever happens. They’re ready for this. 

Everyone fans out. Stiles follows Lydia’s direction while Scott, Kira and Braeden go the other way. Malia’s at his back. It takes a few more minutes they can’t afford to silently trek around the clearing without drawing attention. He very pointedly doesn’t try to peer in and see what’s going on. It’s only going to distract him. 

When they’re close enough, Lydia gestures for Stiles to stop and remain where he is, then continues on ahead, edging around the clearing. She’ll keep moving until she spots Scott approaching from the opposite direction. 

If these masked hunters haven’t called for reinforcements- which is what they’re betting on- they’ll outnumber them easily. Stiles turns and signals to Malia, so she starts doubling back and edging around the clearing in the opposite direction where Braeden will be. If Scott’s plan is working, they’ll have spread out evenly enough to establish a crippling attack. By surrounding the clearing completely. 

Now that he’s in position, Stiles has no qualms squinting through the glowing red to see what manner of torture Derek’s been set up in this time. At first he can’t make out anything but vague shapes. That is until he realises they’re all pacing around a great stone slab in the very centre of the clearing. And where the hell did that even come from? Ikea? 

Stiles nearly does a double take when he realises Derek is tied down to the slab with thick, leather straps. Like some sort of pagan ritual sacrifice. Naturally. His mask looks especially striking in the red glow, much more evil than it originally seemed. And that might have something to do with it getting darker around them. Because oh yeah, the moon has nearly disappeared completely. 

He can almost hear Kira’s countdown in his head as wishes desperately he hadn’t been an older technology snob, enough to scoff at wearing a watch. He’s sincerely regretting it now. The silence is awful. Stiles is itching to move, to do _something _. He doesn’t even know how much time they have left anymore.__

What the hell are they waiting for? 

Scott roars his signal and finally, it's go time. Stiles grips the end of his bat and explodes into the clearing just as the rest of the pack does. 

It erupts into chaos pretty quickly. Because there are two more masked hunters than they’d predicted and Scott gets blocked before he reaches Derek. That is, until Breaden cocks her gun and open fires. It’s all very confusing after that. 

Stiles is just dodging and weaving his way through people, swinging at the ones dressed in black and trying to help as much as he can. He knocks one of the masked hunters out with a good whack to the back of his head. There’s no time to watch him go down. 

“Now Scott,” Malia yells seizing two masked hunters at once by the edges of their weapons, ripping deep gouges in her hands as she tugs them forward with enough force that they slam heavily into one another. 

Scott takes the opening just as Kira screams, “One minute!” 

Stiles slides under an outstretched hand and tries to keep his attention fixed on not dying whilst also trying to see if Scott’s gotten to Derek yet. He’s at the front of the stone slab hovering over Derek’s head when Stiles is forced to pay attention to the swinging pole sword flying at his face. He only just manages to duck. Then Kira is parrying with her sword and taking over before he gets cut to ribbons. 

“Thirty seconds!” she calls to Scott as her arms move faster than Stiles can follow. 

The rest of the masked hunters go down. It’s just them in the clearing now and no one's stopping Scott. 

Stiles pulls himself out from under an unconscious masked hunter that collapsed onto him and jumps to his feet. And he’s free just in time to see the exact moment Scott tips the vial over Derek’s mask. 

And nothing happens. 

What the fuck? 

No, no, no, no, no. This is a _joke _. How is this happening to Derek _again? _Scott looks up in horror, beseechingly searching for an explanation. Stiles faintly hears Kira drop her sword in defeat. His ears are ringing.____

___They failed. Again. And Derek is-_ _ _

__

__

“What?” Scott cries, panicking. “What? I- don’t. What do I do?” 

Kira’s looking at her watch in alarm. “Ten seconds!” 

Oh, screw this. 

Stiles is moving before he consciously makes the decision. Derek must be having the same thought because breaks free of his bonds just as Stiles reaches him and jumps onto the slab, landing on his chest and pushing him back down. He’s tearing the mountain ash out of his pocket without pause and upending the contents onto Derek’s metal helmet. 

If it takes a spark to create a barrier then surely. With a spark of belief someone can _remove _it. He’s removed a barrier before.__

Stiles’ hands burn when he gets his fingers on the mask and the shock of it is overwhelming when his fingers catch on the metal bump he noticed a week ago. The one he thought was a flaw created by Derek. Before he even knows what he’s doing he tugs, picturing Derek’s stupidly stubbled face, his vivid green eyes, the typical disapproving stare and he just _wants _.__

__Alright. He wants._ _

The imperfection in the metal _gives _. And it’s not an imperfection after all. It’s the hidden catch for unlocking the interlocking mechanism. There’s a round of rapid clicks as Stiles pulls with all the strength in his fingers.__

And it comes _apart _in his hands.__

The clearing is drenched in darkness as the eerily red glow dissipates. 

He feels Derek shift beneath him. Literally shift. Back into a human. It’s the most bizarre thing ever as if he’s on a flight and it's experiencing some unexpected turbulence. 

The new moon leaves them blind. Stiles’ hands fumble desperately in the darkness because he has to know. Has to know that this isn’t all for nothing and that they’re just fighting fate by trying to help Derek turn his luck around. His fingers hit stubble. No. Holy _shit _.__

“Holy shit,” Stiles repeats again, not even thinking about it when he cups Derek’s jaw, fingers greedily tracing the planes of his face. 

Derek's _face _. He can’t believe it. It’s definitely a face. Stiles is so lucky he’s blind right now. He’s brimming with so many emotions it’s probably best he can’t see Derek. Or his mouth. He thinks he might’ve been stupid enough to kiss it, he’s so relieved. “Oh my God. Oh my-“__

Kira switches on her flashlight first and shines it in their direction, illuminating the view of them both on top of the creepy, sacrificial stonework. Stiles can see everyone’s mostly unharmed and relieved to see all of Derek again. Although Braeden’s expression is worrying, he knows for a fact that his own is filled with shocked delight. And Derek’s face- 

It’s _Derek’s face. _Oh, sweet merciful, there is not a more magical sight after they've been denied it for so long. The remains of the metal lie cracked apart on either side of his skull. Stiles wants to stomp them into the ground or melt them into liquid then toss them off a cliff and into the sea for good measure.__

Derek’s clicks his jaw, adjusting around a mouth no longer full of fangs. His cuts and bruises are rapidly healing before Stiles’ eyes. That’s a good sign. He stares up at him and his eyes, his normal human eyes nearly glow in the dark. 

“You gonna get off me or what?” he asks bluntly, voice a little croaky from misuse. 

Which, rude. It’s so rude he could _cry_. 

Thank God. He’s never been more happy to hear Derek’s voice. Especially when he’s being an ungrateful asshole. Things are almost back to normal. Stiles suddenly realises he’s basically on his ass, perched atop Derek’s chest with knees on either side of his ribcage and he should probably move now. No need to be on top of this werewolf with his junk nearly pushed in Derek's face when his girlfriend is two metres away. 

That’d be weird. 

Derek scowls, and Stiles’ responding grin is blinding. “Oh, I missed you buddy,” he says patting his chest affectionately as he climbs off. 

A little shakily, he notes. Removing a magical helmet of doom might have taken more of his energy than he'd guessed. 

Derek’s forehead crinkles minutely in confusion when he realises that Stiles is being blatantly honest and he sits up, discerning the rest of the pack and struggling to get his bearings. Now that he’s back to being a reasonably functioning member of society. He rolls his shoulders and looks at his hands like he can’t believe they don’t have claws anymore. There’s a lot to take in. 

It’s great. Plan with a 100 per cent success rate. 

Stiles wipes himself off. It’s mostly dirt and blood and only about a quarter of the blood is his. Minimal injuries, for once. His heart is pounding with left over adrenaline and he ignores the little twinge in his fingers from the overload of all that energy being expelled from the cursed object. Scott is at Derek’s side, draping an arm over his shoulder to help him stand. 

“Derek, are you alright?” he wonders, absolutely stunned as he’s still trying to adjust to the undeniable proof that their plan actually _worked _.__

__Stiles can't really believe it either._ _

And if they’re getting technical, it didn’t. And Deaton sucks beyond all measure. He can’t wait to rub it in that he failed again and Stiles took the mask off all on his own. Especially as he vaguely remembers Deaton laughing at the suggestion. 

Although, he’s not entirely sure _how _he did it. Or to be more accurate, he’s not confident he can pull it off a second time. Freeing Derek took an unforeseen amount of believing. In fact, Stiles could sleep for like a billion years right now, he’s so exhausted.__

And now they have to trek all the way back. Another three hours. It’s probably the one thing Stiles isn’t planning on celebrating. Jesus, he has a newfound hatred for the Preserve now. Nothing good ever happens here. 

Seeing as now would be the appropriate time for these ancient weirdos to pop back up for a final attack, Stiles prudently approaches the first body and starts inspecting for signs of life. It’s a little worrying when he stumbles on the first two steps because the bones in his legs have liquefied but he quickly recovers before anyone notices. It might also have something to do with wanting an excuse not to watch the Derek/Braeden reunion. 

If he has to witness anything to that effect, he might give away something vital about the Derek Paradox. Or just be really disturbed by the open PDA. 

He's pretty sure werewolves can smell an uncontrollable twinge of jealousy. And it’s weird not having one of Derek’s girlfriends trying to kill them. Braeden’s cool but and she had their backs. They’ll get used to her non-homicidal tendencies, eventually. And if not. Well, Stiles is cool with avoiding her for an immeasurable length of time. He thinks it will work for her just as well. 

He barely turns the man over, spotting the black mask that announces he’s feeling a little dead before the guy just disintegrates. 

Not again. 

“Yeah,” he hears Derek say and his voice sounds like it’s already getting stronger. That’s good. Soon he’ll be sassing people left and right. “Are they dead?” 

He barely finishes the question before Stiles takes a guilty step away from what used to be a body, clutching the mask in his hand. 

Lydia, who’s standing closest to him frowns and goes to take it out of his hands just as the rest of the masked hunters that are collapsed in different positions around the clearing crumble into dust. The only thing that outlasts them are the masks. Pretty weird memento as final remains go. 

Did he kill all of them just now? That might bring up some uncomfortable degree of culpability. It’ll definitely be featuring in his nightmares tonight. That’ll teach him for touching things he shouldn’t. 

“Turning to dust seems pretty dead,” Malia replies, bending down to pick up the mask of one closest to her. 

Because she didn’t learn her lesson the first time she touched a cursed object and nearly burnt all her fingers off. Nothing happens, though. Luckily. The warding must have been rendered inert when they died. 

Lydia gives Stiles a calculating look when he hands her the mask without protest. When she turns it toward the light, Stiles notices the jagged crack running vertically down the centre of it. As if it’s been broken in half. Who did that? 

Weird. Lydia approaches the stone slab and picks up the remains of Derek’s mask. With narrowed eyes and some shrewd manoeuvring she pushes the cracked bits back together. She lets out a hum of confirmation and turns the mask back to face them. Kira shines her flashlight on it in the dark. The jagged lines are exactly the same. With a growing sense of unease, Stiles watches the rest of his friends pick various masks off the ground. 

Each one of them is the identical. Matching Derek’s mask. Stiles scratches restlessly at his chin and tries not to think too much of what that means. It doesn’t matter. Lydia does all the thinking for him. 

“They’re linked,” she insists, waving Derek's and the other mask in the air. “They must have imbued their own life force into the spell sealing Derek inside to increase its power. Breaking it killed them. _All _of them.”__

Everyone turns to look at him then and Stiles does not enjoy the attention one bit. They’re staring at him like they’ve never seen him before. Then again, Stiles has never inadvertently committed mass murder. 

First time for everything. 

“How did you do it, dude?” Scott presses, looking amazed. 

Stiles shrugs awkwardly. “You know, what Deaton said. I just believed.” 

Lydia scoffs and approaches him and her expression is intimidating enough that Stiles takes a few retreating steps back. “At least eight of these ancient Dalkhu bound their very life energy to this spell, possibly more of them,” she says, pushing him in the chest with one of the masks. “And you’re saying you overcame all of their combined power because you just _believed? _”__

Stiles just shrugs again. But Lydia is already tapping her mouth thoughtfully as she thinks. "It might have been the residual power of virginity that gave you the strength to break the spell." 

"Hey!" Stiles protests, flushing and mortally offended. "Just because the clock struck twelve and I'm single again doesn't mean I revert back into a virgin. I'm not a freaking pumpkin, Lydia." 

"And he's definitely not a virgin," Malia agrees. Because obviously she was involved in that de-virginising process. 

Someone makes a strangled sound while another person clears their throat. Stiles absolutely does not look at all in Derek's direction. For his own protection. 

"Not that discussing a teenagers sexual experience isn't fascinating," Braeden mutters. "But why don't we-" 

"Hey, I'm eighteen," Stiles argues. "And legal." 

And why the hell does he keep telling people that? And it's always whenever Derek's within earshot. Ulterior motives much? Kira's mouth falls open with second hand embarrassment for him. Stiles only wishes he could feel embarrassed about the things that come out of his mouth anymore. 

Sadly, no dice. 

"Oh my God," she mutters glancing plaintively at Scott like he should intervene. Save Stiles from making more damage with words. She's a good seed. 

Lydia doesn't seem like she's planning on dropping this anytime soon, though. 

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you,” he admits. “It just happened. But I’d be happy to debate the topic further once we get out of these freaking woods.” 

Malia huffs out a disappointed sound but everyone else is very much for getting the hell out while they can. Stiles is in no mood for Derek to attract more danger and evil. He needs to sleep first. Though there’s no telling he’ll be able to. He just wants the chance to try. 

They move out in around about the same formation. Though Derek’s at the front and Kira’s switched with Lydia who’s still angrily mulling over their win. Can’t she just be happy that they succeeded? It was pretty improbable. They’re basically a statistical anomaly right now. 

No one ever mentioned the long, arduous walk home after the impressive final battle though. Stiles feels grievously misinformed about the reality of the action hero. If life was fair at all a chopper would be throwing out a coil of rope ladder so they could climb up and fly home. Instead, they’re stuck tromping back through the woods in the dark, bored, sullen and tired as hell. 

At least, that's how Stiles feels. 

Scott eventually realises how drained Stiles is and instead of making a big deal about it like he was avoiding, he just ends up half supporting Stiles as he walks, keeping his mouth shut. 

Stiles is so grateful he could kiss him. Kira is a lot more observant than he realised when she suddenly, quietly demands to carry his backpack because it’s fair to rotate them evenly amongst the group. She’s totally full of shit but Stiles hands it over anyway because he can’t be bothered to argue. She even takes his bat too and twists it easily in her hand like she’s holding another sword. It looks incredibly cool. 

Derek and Braeden aren’t talking much at the front. Either that or it’s not loud enough for Stiles to hear them. They didn’t really have the reunion he was expecting, though to be fair he hadn’t really stood around and watched. Stiles can see the tense line of Derek’s shoulders and it’s especially alarming when he keeps turning back to look at the rest of the group. As if he’s checking they’re still there. Which does not bode well. 

“I really hope there’s not another monster roaming around these woods about to eat us,” Stiles whispers. “I don’t think I have the energy for that right now.” 

Scott laughs. “What are you even talking about, man. I’m pretty sure we’re the most dangerous things out here.” 

Stiles is very appeased with being lumped together as the collective ‘we’ even if he is just a human teenager with a bat. Either way. It’s a nice thought. Because Scott is a nice guy. Sleeping would also be nice too. Stiles could really do with a lot of that right now. 

“Well, whatever mutant squirrel Derek keeps looking for better back off.” 

Scott frowns. “Wha-?” his head snaps to the right so he can listen to something coming from the direction in front of them. Great, now they’re being attacked from all sides. Logically it will eat Derek first. It’s only the natural order of things. “Oh um, yeah. Sure. Mutant squirrels.” 

“I know, right?” Stiles mumbles, half pillowing his head on Scott’s shoulder. But Derek stops turning around so they must have scared it off through willpower alone. That’s pretty much all he’s running on. The only thing he’s moving at this point are his feet and even those might be wanting to take an indefinite coffee break. “Beacon Hills sucks.” 

“You know, it did,” Scott says softly. “Til you showed up.” 

Jesus, being in life threatening situations is making Scott sentimental. Stiles might want to blush. Bat his eyelashes a little “You are one smooth talker, dude. I think my heart just grew three sizes.” 

“Never mind,” Scott declares and pretends to drop him. He’s only playing but and an arm comes snaking around Stiles’ waist before he can start face planting anywhere. Thank God. 

“You’re a dick, but I love you.” 

“Love you too, dude.” 

“You two are sickening,” Lydia announces and what do you know, guess they weren’t whispering as masterfully as they thought. 

Ah well. 

“Jealous?” Stiles guesses. 

“Jealous,” Scott agrees, pityingly. 

The rest of the trek back is an exhausted blur.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The crumbling into dust thing does make itself known with a vengeance some time after Scott dumps Stiles onto his mattress a few hours later. He’s too tired to scream much about it though or get out of the bed to locate his notebook and write down all the gory details. 

Instead he shakes out his hair- in the dream the masked hunters tried to suffocate him by burying him in the remains of their brethren- just in case there might be dust in it, before he rolls over and drifts off again. 

There’s another nightmare at around two thirty in the morning as his alarm clock helpfully informs him and Stiles sighs resentfully after his heart stops trying to pound its escape from his chest. He tugs out headphones that Scott didn’t think to locate when he deposited him on his bed. 

He jams the earbuds into his ears and presses play. 

He doesn’t wake up again after that.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. If you love me, Let me go

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When Stiles blearily stumbles into consciousness the next morning, Scott is perched on the edge of his bed. 

He groans around a misplaced yawn.

“This is creepy, right. You _know _this is creepy. Been taking skulking pointers from Derek again?”__

Scott smacks at the lumps that are Stiles’ legs beneath the covers and flops onto the spare side of the mattress with a disgruntled sigh. He wrinkles his nose a bit, which Stiles thinks has to do with the fact he hasn’t changed his sheets since Monday. And possibly jerked off in his bed a few times this past week. 

What? He’s been stressed. 

“I wasn’t like, watching you dude,” Scott grumbles. “I was downstairs talking with your dad when I heard you waking up.” 

Interesting. “You know how to tell that? What’s it sound like?” 

Scott just shrugs, still scenting the air a little and Stiles wants to smack him on the nose to make him stop. There is a treasure trove of scents he’s better off not discovering in this room. Stiles is just protecting him here, honest. 

“I don’t know, your heart starts beating faster and you start moving a lot more.” 

Scott sniffs again. 

“Yeah, dude, I jerk off in here,” Stiles snaps working his way up from a little vexed, to outright irritation. “This is my bedroom.” 

Scott reaches over and slaps his bare chest in retaliation. It totally has Stiles rubbing at his nipples with a grimace. “ _Not _what I can smell. Derek was in here wasn’t he? Did he sleep in your bed?”__

His knowing smirk is entirely unwarranted. There are conclusions being jumped to here. Incorrect conclusions. 

“What? No,” Stiles cries, full of protest. “Or I guess, maybe once? He came in here when I had a nightmare and was on the bed for like ten seconds.” 

Scott coughs out a strangled laugh. “It smells like he’s rolled himself all over here.” 

Stiles flings his arm out without any real target just the intention of hitting some part of Scott’s anatomy. There are intentions to bring the pain. “Did you come here for an express purpose, or is it just to be an ass?” 

Scott sobers up pretty quickly at the question and Stiles immediately feels his stomach drop. In a moment he’s half sitting up, heart pumping frantically before Scott’s pushing forcefully on his chest as if that will magically calm him down. Not generally how anxiety works but props to Scott for trying. 

“Nobody is dead,” Scott says firmly, patting distractedly at his arm. “There’s just something I have to tell you and you’re not going to like it.” 

Stiles lets himself fall back onto the mattress with a heavy sigh. Now seems like the best time for bad news. Just when he's thinking the future looks a lot less bleak for them all. 

“Lay it on me, dude. I can take it.” 

“Derek’s gone.” 

Stiles actually face palms this time. 

No. Again? Now this is just pathetic. He gives up, alright? Derek is doomed to have the worst life ever. There's nothing to be done to save him. He tried, okay. He really did. It's out of his hands now. 

“He’s kidnapped again? Oh my God, it was that masked lady in the hospital, right? God, that was barely like a _day _between traumatic experiences. Derek’s gonna get whiplash.” ____

“He’s not kidnapped,” Scott grumbles, rolling his eyes. “And my mom told me last night that she turned to dust like the rest of them. Derek left. Willingly. He came to see me today to let me know and see if I was cool with it.”

Stiles lets that knock around in his brain for a moment. Huh. So Derek took his advice after all. That’s pretty surprising, actually. He's definitely following on with the whole personal growth plan. Bettering himself as a werewolf dude. There's something to be admired in that, for sure. 

“Like forever?” he wonders idly. “Did he say if he plans on coming back?” 

Scott pauses, and Stiles knows he’s mulling over if he should lie to protect Stiles’ feelings. So definitely not coming back, then. 

It's stupid. But Derek is always stupid so Stiles can find comfort in the fact there's no changing that no matter where in the world he ends up. Still kind of sucks, though. He will be missed. Derek, they hardly knew ye. And let it be known that Stiles still persists in the insane hope of getting to know Derek biblically. He's all about unattainable crushes, okay? 

“He didn’t say.” 

Stiles is silent for the moment. “Is he alright? Or as alright as Derek Hale can be?” 

Scott nods. “Yeah, I think he was.” 

That’s all he wanted, really. 

Stiles hums softly and stretches his toes out with a relaxed sigh. Considering Derek’s future had nearly involved being a professional werewolf lapdog, it’s astounding they're even talking about any potential vacations. He’ll miss their colourful debates and the unmistakeable tension behind nearly every interaction though. He's not deluded enough to classify said tension as sexual. 

That'd be way off base. 

Stiles wants to grow old bickering like that. Not that he’s suggesting Derek be that someone. 

There's a thing, alright. They have a thing that Stiles is incapable of properly defining. But it's definitely there. Whatever the hell it is. But he's happy with the Derek paradox remaining as it is. Less potential for death, anyway. 

Derek might be smooth sailing now but he’ll always be a magnet for trouble. And Stiles has enough trouble already to imprison him in multiple horrors for the next few years. Although he’s working on limiting his sentence. 

“Good.” 

Scott just raises an eyebrow. “Just good? You’re not upset or anything that he left without saying goodbye?” 

It seems Scott’s forgotten who Derek, is in fact, _actually _, dating.__

__Because, it’s not Stiles. There is no dramatic betrayal here. Why is Scott acting like Derek owes him anything? He’s never been under that impression at all. Derek may have been acting like a puppy but that doesn’t mean that Stiles gets to claim ownership._ _

____

There is a whole world of no to be discovered there. And no matter how much of an asshole he is for making the many, many dog jokes, Derek is a human being. Not something to be possessed. 

____

“He did say goodbye, but,” Stiles argues on Derek's behalf. For once, he actually isn't the bad guy in this scenario and Stiles would like to keep it that way. There are no scorned lovers here. “To you. And no, I’m not upset because he doesn’t owe me shit. Yeah, it’ll suck for a bit because we’ll miss his grumpy antics but it’s his choice. After what he’s been through, he could do with a break. We don’t own him, dude.” 

Scott is appearing more and more perplexed by this conversation. Clearly, he had some other ideas about how this was going to play out. Did he really think Stiles would be pissed? He basically suggested Derek leave anyway, so it’s hardly a big shocker. It's his plan being enacted here. But he’s glad that's how it played out in the end. 

Right now, Beacon Hills is bad for Derek Hale. It’s probably bad for himself as well, now that he’s thinking about it. But it’ll get better. Not overnight or anything. But it will, slowly and with Buddhists level of patience, everything will turn out for the better. 

“When did you get all wise and Zen?“ Scott wonders, interested by his inherent goodness. 

It's true, he's a saint. People should clearly print his face onto coins and distribute them to the rest of his subjects. In Stiles We Trust or something to that effect. It'll go down well, for sure. 

Stiles shrugs and tries to keep his face neutral when he really just wants to laugh at Scott’s expression. 

“It’s this new thing I’m trying,” he admits solemnly. 

The uncontrollable laugh he lets out two seconds later might be contrary to that fact.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Derek’s gone for about three months. 

And yeah, Stiles does miss his stupid face but it’s not like he falls apart without it. 

His nightmares lessen. BREATHE, DON’T DIE is basically a playlist of the gods. Mostly seeing as Stiles made it himself which guarantees its awesomeness, but primarily because it helps him sleep so much. Scott regularly finds him slow music to add to it and when the rest of the pack finds out about it, they pitch in some of their own musical favourites too. 

The playlist gets long enough that he can’t listen to every song in one night’s sleep cycle. Although, the definition of his sleeping cycle changes. That magical night of eight hours seems like the catalyst for finally improving his sleep. It might have been the last little piece of the puzzle he needed to tip over the edge from terrifying into slightly less terrible, nightmares. 

He's up to the regular amount now, between 7-8 hours. It's blessed by the goddess. 

His dad stops monitoring Stiles like he’s a flight risk but he doesn’t take as many shifts on as before. They end up hanging out a lot instead, mostly watching horror movies and trying to guess which monster might actually be real before it arrives in Beacon Hills to eat them. It's a lot of fun. Stiles occasionally permits buttered popcorn to be present. 

The Nemeton is still juicing out its pheromones so they’re never without a new monster of the month to keep them busy. Some of it’s triggering but surprisingly a lot of it isn’t. Stiles’ panic attacks have gotten so rare he almost can pretend he can’t remember what they feel like (spoiler: he remembers). 

They finally figure out what Parrish is. Turns out he’s some kind of descendent or manifestation of the Nemean lion which he and Lydia discovered when he accidentally transformed in front of her. Stiles doesn’t want to think about what they might have been doing to trigger the event. Better off not knowing, in hindsight. 

So basically Parrish is indestructible whether he’s in human form or a big ol’ lion which Stiles has seen on two occasions now and both times were equally awesome. And his claws can cut through anything. Yet another moment witnessed by Stiles. He’s definitely handy to have around in a fight though thankfully he’s not as bloodthirsty as his mythical counterpart. 

That worked out for them, at least. And as long as no one skins him like they did to the ancient lion of myth, he’ll be fine. He just has to keep an eye out for Hercules and everything will be sweet. Stiles really hopes that guest appearance is not a possibility. That might just be his breaking point. 

Stiles wishes he had something cool like an impenetrable hide or something. Still human, though. 

Lydia eventually drops her unrelenting questions about Derek’s magical recovery vis-à-vis Stiles’ human hands but that’s only after she loses patience with his unrelenting indifference and goes to ask Deaton about it instead. When she comes back with a knowing smirk, Stiles finds he really, really doesn’t want to know the reason. 

It's definitely not something good. Mostly likely something embarrassing that reveals personal and intimate details of his innermost feelings. Stiles doesn't even like to think about those. Imagine everyone else knowing about them. 

He finally applies for some colleges. Berkeley, Stanford, UCLA and a few Ivy leagues just for the fun of it. With Scott’s help, he actually starts studying, drawing up a plan of attack for SAT’s. Even Lydia gives him a few tips- a lot of which he already knew about- and they all get around to a whole hell of a lot of studying. In the brief periods of calm between the newest monsters of the week. 

The study group thing actually takes off, despite his disbelief in its potential. 

He’s doing pretty great, actually. At the three month mark, his nightmares have slowed down to about two a week and it’s so much more than anything he could have hoped for, that it’s glorious. Studying sort of sucks, unless it’s something that directly interests him but he slugs through it because despite common belief he _does _want to do well.__

__And he can, he knows it._ _

Not ignoring the fact that monster hunting still remains the more enjoyable extra curricular activity of the two. They’re dealing with an alp at the moment; a nightmare shapeshifting creature that sits on people’s chests and drinks blood from their nipples. 

Yep. Apparently it's a thing. Stiles can’t believe this is his life. 

On the plus side though, he knows for certain it hasn’t been the cause for all of his nightmares. Mostly as it hasn't been in town that long and prefers women mostly because it has a taste for breast milk. Honestly what even? So very wrong on so many levels. 

His dad keeps hearing reports of farmer’s cows being milked dry since apparently it likes the taste of their milk too. He could argue that milk is also sold in supermarkets at reasonable enough prices but supernatural creatures aren't known for their reasoning skills so it's easier to forgo that one. 

Stiles is on a stakeout on the edge of Beacon Hills Preserve, right near a farming property that’s had the most trouble but still has some unmilked cows left. That a hungry alp might drink from. At least he's hoping. On the plus side, he’s all versed in the different ways to take the little gobliny thing down. It can shapeshift into smaller animals like dogs, birds, snakes and the like but it wears a hat called a Tarnkappe and that’s the source of its power. 

The only thing he needs to watch out for really is being cursed by its evil eye. 

It’s too bad he’s alone tonight. The alp isn’t that dangerous and despite Scott’s insistence that they can cancel, Stiles left him and Kira to their date night. Malia isn’t interested in chasing around a weird little nipple drinker and Lydia must also be busy as well because she didn’t answer her phone when he called. 

Stiles grumbles as he twists the lemon between his fingers, squinting to see as best he can in the dark and tries not to feel lonely and only slightly abandoned by every member of his pack. When a flash of brown darts past his jeep which he's parked at the farmer’s open gate, Stiles nearly drops the lemon. 

Go time. 

He climbs out and hurries towards the fence, quickly locking it behind him because some of the forums he’s read state the alp can only leave the way it arrived. So now it’s trapped. Hopefully. 

It barely reaches the first cow before Stiles grabs it by the scruff of its neck, bends down and shoves the lemon into its mouth. It’s meant to only work if it’s done to the alp during the daytime but Stiles figures it’ll be unpleasant enough during the night anyway as he snatches the hat off its head. The alp lets out a screech around the lemon and turns around just as Stiles stabs a knife right into its evil eye. 

Damaging the eye is supposed to remove any of the alp’s ill intent and Stiles prays he’s right when it spits the lemon out and faces him. When it only wipes at the spot where the damaged evil eye rests and politely asks for its hat back, Stiles waits a moment. 

First, he asks where the alp has been sleeping as they usually like to hide in their own dens. When the alp starts describing a factory like building of units, Stiles wonders a little at the familiarity of it until it describes a bed in the living room and he realises it’s talking about Derek’s loft. 

Of course, it made Derek’s loft its fucking den. 

This is just starting to seem implausible now. Derek's bad luck has to be some other level kind of curse because it follows him everywhere. Once it’s told him all it can, he hands the hat back over with a bemused expression at the oddness of the situation. There might be a little temptation to let the alp know, 'Dobby, is free' but he refrains. 

The alp thanks him and walks back the way it came. And when Stiles follows, suggesting it leave Beacon Hills and go elsewhere for it’s dinner it's only too happy to agree. Who knew stabbing it in the eye would make it so agreeable? He’s extremely weirded out when he opens the gate and it transforms into a dog and bounds towards the woods. 

The little hat on its head jingles comically with the movement as it disappears into the night. 

Stiles sighs and hurries to get back into his jeep. He texts Scott to tell him the alp is taken care of, then drives over to Derek’s place for the inevitable clean up duty. He doesn’t even have a key so he’ll probably have to try and break in. That won't be fun. He's pretty sure Derek has this mighty alarm system or whatever. But then again, his fortune is so shitty, it's probably broken. 

When he gets there it doesn’t matter much about the key. The door is wide open and there’s mess everywhere. It looks like the aftermath of a rave. Derek’s so lucky he’s not around to see this, cause he’d be so pissed. No doubt in his mind at all about that. 

Stiles is almost annoyed on his behalf. Mostly because he's going to have to clean it up, though. 

“What the hell is this?” 

Stiles drops the trash he’s in the middle of picking up in surprise. 

It’s Derek. Holy shit, it’s _Derek _, carrying a duffel bag and looking just as pissed that his home has apparently been desecrated in his absence as Stiles expected.__

“Did you throw another rave in here?” Derek demands, stepping into the loft with an unlimited supply of disapproval. 

It's an impressive display, certainly. 

Stiles balks. “Hey, I resent that. Danny and Ethan threw that first rave, I just happened to attend it.” 

Derek scowls and gestures emphatically at the rave like aftermath that is his apartment. “Oh,” Stiles says, flushing a little. “This is all thanks to a pesky little alp.” 

And it _is _a pesky little shit, alright? Stiles regrets letting it go so easily when it should've come back and cleaned up its own mess. That would've been the smarter move. Derek walks into the kitchen and dumps his duffel bag onto the counter.__

__When Stiles continues cleaning, Derek gets out a trash bag and starts to help. ____

“How was your trip?” he asks a little hesitantly. 

He’s definitely not used to frank conversations with Derek and isn't too sure how to proceed. This might not go down well. They've definitely never talked about their feelings before. What are they going to do next, go out for coffee? 

“Fine,” he says brusquely. “There wasn’t any frolicking, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Me? I would never.” 

Derek scoffs. Okay, fine maybe Stiles would. But he likes to believe he’s grown as a person since then. Maybe like an inch or so. What? It takes time. Mr Werewolf Work-in-Progress knows all about that. 

“So, what did you do then?” Stiles asks because these kinds of things always make him curious. “Where did you even go? You visit Cora?” 

“For a bit,” Derek admits, scooping up some broken glass. He's being surprisingly open about it. That's never happened before. “But I mostly just travelled.” 

“Roadtrip?” Stiles wonders, trying to picture Derek in his Camaro travelling around the country and finding himself. 

It’s too weird to even think about, he can’t do it with a straight face. It's almost as bad as picturing the wood frolicking thing. 

“Something like that.” 

Which only makes Stiles _more _curious. Seriously though, could the dude be any more vague? These are the things Stiles actually wants to know about. What did he do exactly? Join a peaceful werewolf commune? Write a memoir on a beach somewhere? Have a romantic interlude with Braeden as they hunted down the desert wolf?__

__Where is Braeden anyway? They haven't seen her since Derek left so Stiles assumed they were together. Shouldn't they have come back at the same time then?_ _

“Did you visit the Grand Canyon? Niagara Falls? Disney World?” 

The alp is one messy little beast. Cleaning up after it is so not his idea of fun. Stiles is so glad it’s leaving town now. Especially, since it’s a nightmare monster. He’s had enough nightmares to last a lifetime. 

“One out of three,” Derek concedes a little bluntly like he's being interrogated and not just engaging in friendly small talk. It's not like it's going to kill him. Probably is the one thing Stiles can actually guarantee _won't _kill him. ____

And the plot thickens. Which one is it though?

“Disney World?” 

Derek’s lips press into this tight line like he’s reaching the point where he’s going to start pushing Stiles into stuff. Again. “Yes, Stiles. I went to Disney World. A single white male, to a place filled with small, young children.” 

Oh. Right. Stiles winces a little at that. The last thing Derek needs is to be labelled as a sexual predator. Though to be fair, the way he approached Erica, Boyd and Isaac to give them the bite is entirely suspect. He knows all about how that went down. 

Derek probably learnt that creeper move from his uncle. No doubt. 

Stiles clears his throat a little awkwardly and focuses on clearing away more trash. He’s not one for silence so he keeps the chatter going even when Derek is probably less than pleased to come home to the house invasion. Alhough Derek doesn’t seem to mind as much, especially since Stiles stops with the frustrating questions. Mostly. 

They're basically done when Stiles can’t avoid the most important question any longer. 

“So, why did you come back?” he asks. “I figured once you got out of dodge, it would stay that way.” 

Derek shrugs a little. “Hale's have always seen Beacon Hills as their responsibility. I owe it to my family's lineage to help Scott as best I can.” 

“You don’t owe anyone anything, dude,” Stiles says, trying not to sigh at Derek's tendency towards martyrdom. “I’m pretty sure you’ve done your time by now.” 

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m still not your, dude,” he mutters. “And I want to help. Where is Scott anyway?” 

“Oh, he and Kira have a date,” Stiles explains, tossing an empty bottle into the bag. 

Derek raises an eyebrow. “He left you to take care of two creatures alone? What can you even do, annoy them to death?” 

Right, how could he forget. Derek’s a massive dick. “Oh, ha ha. Looks like you haven’t lost that sense of humour. Even after getting stuck in a giant helmet. How did that even work by the way since you’ve got such a fat head? And there was only one of them, you dick.” 

Derek scowls, but visibly scents the air. “I can smell two.” 

What the ever loving hell? 

“Two alps? Or two different creatures?” 

Derek ties up the bag once they’re done. “Two different creatures. The other one tried to eat the goblin.” 

This is so not what he planned on spending his Friday night. At the very least, he’d hoped he’d be done by seven, mosey on home, pop a pizza in the oven, watch a movie on his laptop and jerk off afterwards. His dad is on the late shift tonight, so he’ll be home alone. Cue Celion Dion's, All by Myself to properly explain the feeling that kind of aloneness evokes. Not that it really bothers him that much. 

Especially if there's dick touching involved. 

“Ugh. You’re kidding, right?” he demands, then wants to brain himself on the kitchen counter at Derek’s very much not-kidding face. 

He tugs his cell phone out of his jeans- it survived Derek’s kidnapping, surprisingly- already grumbling to himself about the immeasurable level of hatred he possesses for the Nemeton. And its wicked, monster luring magic. 

“You _are _the ones who activated it,” Derek points out unhelpfully.__

“Screw you, man,” Stiles snaps and no, that is not a proposition. 

Mostly. 

_Turns out 2nd bump in the night. D back. Cue badass hunting montage. Let know if D kidnapped again. Dnt 4get to cover up ___

Scott buzzes out a reply two seconds later. _Dereks back? Wtf? Another monster besides the alp? U need help? Fuck off were takin it slow ___

Stiles can respect that. He just wants his bro to be happy. And if that means breathing a little before he's able to take the next step with Kira, then Stiles is totally supportive of that decision. He knows how to be a good friend.

_Nah. All good. Probs wont bite it. ___

“Let’s go,” Derek says, tugging Stiles by the arm toward the open doorway. 

“What?” Stiles says stupidly, fumbling not to drop his cell phone and trip over his own feet at the sudden change in direction. 

This most definitely was not the plan. 

“There’s another creature roaming through Beacon Hills,” Derek growls, as if it pains him to explain. “Let’s go get it.” 

“Whoa, slow down there, Van Helsing,” Stiles mutters. “We don’t even know what it _is _yet.”__

“So? We’ll just follow the trail it left behind.” 

Stiles struggles, but there’s werewolf strength to contend with here. There’s no escape on the horizon whenever Derek feels like dragging him around like a fashion accessory. And despite Stiles’ dick being very happy at any close proximity to Derek and his warm hands, his pride leaves him adverse to being the metaphorical chew toy. 

At least Derek can’t shut him up. As of now, talking is his last line of defence. 

“I want it to be known that I am not in support of this plan,” he announces as Derek leads him out into the hall and towards the elevator. “These are the type of plans that get people killed.” 

Derek appears to have no problems with this. He even keeps his hand wrapped around Stiles’ arm as if he’s going to make a sudden break for it at any moment in the small space of the elevator. Right, because that makes so much sense. “Says the one who basically wrote the book on bad plans.” 

What is he trying to imply right now? Stiles thinks he should be offended. 

“What? No. Says the one who’s still alive and played a modest part in keeping Beacon Hills from being infested with evil. There are no bad plans here, only victories and triumph.” 

Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles is very distracted by the hand pressing heat into his skin to focus clearly. Why hasn’t he let go? Derek usually drops him like yesterday’s trash after he’s done making his- I’m a big scary werewolf- point. The male werewolf posturing always has an expiration date. 

Stiles swallows heavily around a range of uncomfortable feelings before he can’t take it anymore. He and Derek touching is guaranteed to get him excited in his pants. It's terrible. And then Derek will notice and kill him for real. Not a pleasant way to go. 

“You know, seeing as we had a reasonably normal conversation, just now,” Stiles says. “You think maybe you could stop treating me like I’m a prisoner about to make a break for it?” 

Derek looks pained as if Stiles is the problem here. The asshole. “What are you talking about now?” 

Stiles looks pointedly down at where they’re still connected “Do you think you could give my arm back? Or have you claimed it as your own for an indefinite amount of time? Full disclosure, in future I will need it to touch my dick.” 

Derek looks down and abruptly releases his hold. He grits his teeth and steps back into the furthest part of the small space like he can’t get away fast enough. What a hypocrite. Stiles just rolls his eyes, enjoys the freedom and tries not to think too much about the close call that was. 

“Sorry,” Derek grits out like the sentiment is so disturbing that he’s choking on it. 

Wow, Stiles really did miss such a winning personality. That must say a lot about his brain functioning. 

“I know, I’m so irresistible,” he can’t resist adding. “But you’re going to have to control yourself. We’re professional monster hunters, here.” 

Derek shoves him into the opposite side of the wall with the barest push of his hand. Stiles curses at the flash of jarring pain as he stumbles into the metal. That is going to bruise for sure. One might have hoped Derek had grown out of gratuitous displays of violence as a means of asserting dominance. 

One would also be wrong. 

“This coming from someone who proudly declares his transition from biggest virgin ever at any opportunity. And we are not monster hunters. We’re a pack.” 

Which. Derek Hale frankly discussing his virginity or lack thereof is certainty not a conversation he ever anticipated on having. In reality, at least. Of course, Derek would be fucked up enough to view sexual inexperience as a weakness. After the stuff that’s happened to him, Stiles can’t exactly resent him for it. He can however, be offended. 

“You can be such an asshole,” Stiles grumbles rubbing at his shoulder. “But I’ll forgive you because you don’t know better. In case you’re wondering, friends don’t push friends into things.” 

“Yes, they do,” Derek argues like the unrelenting asshole he is. “You and Scott do it all the time.” 

Which hold up, Derek actually notices things? What even. That is just beyond weird. “Yeah, but, Scott’s not actually trying to kill me.” 

Derek rolls his eyes again. “ _I’m _not trying to kill you.”__

Stiles feels like he might be able to produce lots and lots of evidence contrary to that fact if prompted. But did Derek just admit in a roundabout way that they’re actually friends? He’s never mentioned that before. That’s definitely new. They are taking some drastic leaps in the amicability department tonight. 

“And how does one become the biggest virgin ever? Is there some kind of award ceremony I didn’t know about? Did they give out trophies? And could you be any more creepy? No wonder they didn’t let you into Disney World.” 

Blessedly, the elevator reaches ground floor before Derek can eviscerate him. Stiles hurries over to his jeep parked on the curb and tries not to notice the intimidating sight of Derek hot on his heels. There is danger present in his future, that’s for sure. 

“Oh, so we have to listen to you constantly talking about how you’re legal, dropping your dick into any, and every, conversation and bragging about all the sex you've had but when someone responds it’s creepy? That makes sense. And for god sakes, Stiles, I didn’t go to Disney World. Will you drop it already?” 

Stiles does not want to consider what Derek’s trying to imply. In no way, shape or form has he been that overt in his desire to share a mutual orgasm with the dude. That’d be too depressing to think of. Plus, he’s still betting on Derek not being that observant. It's not like he's been that obvious about it. 

Right? 

“Nope,” he retorts cheerfully, unlocking the doors to his jeep before jumping into the driver’s seat. “Because you’re like basically thirty so it _is _creepy and also as we’re bros, you should be able to open up to me.”__

Derek climbs into the passenger seat of the jeep with a scowl. “I am only four years older than you, smartass. We are not bros and you are not Doctor Phil.” 

Huh. So Derek is twenty two then? Good to know. Stiles was starting to be concerned he might have a thing for older gentlemen who are basically like a fine wine. The older one is, the better the taste. Extra sultry wink. But at least there’s less guilt lusting over a twenty two year old. That kind of age difference might not be so terrifying for his dad to contend with. 

Not that he’s making any assumptions about any relationship potential here. He’s not that lucky. 

“So what, you can go around telling Scott you’re _brothers _now, but me and you can’t bond? Double standard, dude,” he insists as he starts the engine, before pulling out onto the main road.__

Derek seems like he might be regretting returning to Beacon Hills after all. His expression is pretty clear he’s reverting to asshole mode in response to Stiles’ dickish questions. 

This is how they work, okay? He cranks down a window to follow the trail of the scent and it takes a herculean effort not to comment when Derek starts sniffing. If he pokes his head out of the window with his tongue lolling, Stiles will lose it. That kind of golden dog comment cannot go unsaid. 

“Fine, we’re brothers,” Derek declares, hair ruffling in the wind. “You happy now?” 

Stiles lets out a strangled sound. Because that is literally the last thing he wants. In no express terms does he want to be related to Derek. That’d just be cruel. “No. You can’t just fake it, man,” he argues petulantly. “And like I’d want to be your brother, anyway.” 

“What would you prefer to be?” he demands and isn’t that a loaded question. He is so glad Derek doesn’t turn to stare at him as Stiles tries valiantly not to react. The eye contact might be his undoing. His heartbeat skyrockets anyway, though. “My sister?” 

Great. He loves these talks, really. Stiles is more than prepared to argue until he stops drawing breath. And Derek knows it. This is an exercise in futility. It’s just how they roll. They could probably argue the uses of selfie sticks just as passionately. 

“Fuck yo gender binary,” Stiles retorts. "As if those are my only options." 

Derek makes this ridiculous sound and actually takes several deep breaths in order to work his way up to a response. Yeah, he doesn’t want to kill Stiles at all. Liar. Stiles can’t believe he’s not popping claws already. 

“You’re a menace,” Derek finally retorts. “No wonder your father has no idea what to do with you.” 

“Aha!” Stiles cries, poking an accusing finger into Derek’s chest. He might swerve a little off the road in the process. Whatever. “So you two _have _been bonding behind my back. I knew it!”__

Derek is openly scowling now as he bats Stiles’ fingers away. “What does that even- we had _one _beer together. It’s not like we’re best friends.”__

And holy shit. That is not what he was expecting. Suffering through a bit of chit chat at the grocery store, fine. But drinking together? Are they _bros _now? What even.__

“Oh my God,” he gasps. “You had a beer with my _dad? _What kind of person even does that?”__

Derek huffs out a frustrated breath. 

“The kind who’s previously been a wanted fugitive and wants to remain on good terms with the Sheriff,” he shoots back. “And is over twenty one.” 

Low blow, dude. “Asshole.” 

“You know if you really want me to kill you, just ask,” Derek mutters. “I don’t need _motivation _to do it.”__

“Fuck off,” Stiles says, unafraid. “Pretty sure your wolf loves me anyway and won’t let you eat me.” 

Derek just sighs. 

“What exactly has Scott been telling you?” he wonders sounding faintly bothered by the statement. “There aren’t two existing entities that make up a werewolf. I don’t have a wolf inside that I need to keep under control, I _am _the wolf. That’s why that spell was so unnatural. It was like being split in half.”__

“Oh,” Stiles exclaims, surprised. He in fact, did not know that. “So then, you _do _like me.”__

Derek just clenches his jaw and doesn’t deign to reply. Stiles is more than happy to keep the ball rolling but. 

“C’mon,” he laughs. “Admit it. Under all that sour wolfy exterior, you actually enjoy my company.” 

“I tolerate you,” Derek corrects. “Doesn’t mean I won’t kill you. Turn left here.” 

Stiles obeys with only some minor grumbling. “If you do, I’ll have you know Scott and I have come to an avenging agreement.” 

Derek seems unwillingly interested by this. “What the hell does that even mean?” 

“It means,” Stiles explains, resisting poking him again. “That if I die, Scott’s promised to avenge me and vice versa.” 

Derek scoffs. “Yeah, you’d do some real damage. Still have that broken baseball bat?” 

Stiles wants to bemoan of the level of regret he has for ever removing Derek’s mask but he’s too busy enjoying the argument coming out of Derek’s mouth to lie. This is what he lives for, getting fired up like this. “I bought a new one, douchebag. And I’ll have you know I am not defenceless. I’m the only one that saved your wolfy ass, aren’t I?” 

Derek’s faux irritation and dickish posturing sobers instantly at mention of his previous prison. Or at any mention of the very weird thing that Stiles did which he constantly refuses to think about. Because he’s pretty sure just believing isn’t the reason it worked. 

Stiles has this horrible feeling it involves the Derek Paradox in some way. In any case, it’s pretty clear Derek’s not too open to a discussion. Maybe it’s too soon to be mentioning that close call yet. Duly noted. He will avoid the black hole that is Derek’s various negative experiences in the future. 

“And in case you didn’t notice,” he continues, trying to alleviate the tension. “Humans are just as dangerous as the supernatural. How many times have hunters nearly killed you?” 

Derek gives him this dry look and Stiles realises he might have just put his foot in it even more. Obviously, he has an ongoing issue with constantly reminding Derek of all the horrible things that have happened to him. Why does he keep doing that, anyway? 

“Pull over.” 

Of course, he’s going to storm off. What a drama queen. “Don’t get pissed off at my hard truths. If you can’t take it, man. Don’t dish it out.” 

Derek actually grips the back of his neck to turn his head to the left where there is in fact a monster moving along the edge of the Preserve in front of them. 

Oh. 

Stiles does not notice how good Derek’s fingers feel there. Or that he’s seconds away from asking for a neck rub. What? After all that’s happened, Derek definitely owes him a few of those. 

Stiles squints at the misshapen thing as he pulls off to the side of the road. It’s too far away to see it clearly. He definitely doesn’t recognise _that _type of monster. Though to be fair, he’d never heard of alps until one came blazing into town. Their bestiary could do with some expanding.__

“What is it?” Stiles wonders, puzzled. 

Derek’s watching the creature move with a predatory consideration. “I don’t know. Never seen one before.” 

“Of course, _you’d _be no help,” Stiles mutters, rolling his eyes as he lets the jeep idle. “What else is new?”__

“I’m really thinking about punching you in the face, right now,” Derek warns, but he’s full of shit. 

Stiles has basically half cuddled the guy at this stage. Well, to be fair Derek’s head was mainly in his lap but still. There have been intimate moments. Derek might act like an ass but he’s not an outright dick unless Stiles deserves it. 

“So, what do we do then?” Stiles asks. “You wanted to follow this thing and now we have. Doesn’t mean we have any idea how to deal with it, though.” 

Derek shoots him a condescending look and raises his hand as his claws pop out. Right. Natural Derek response. Kill the thing they don’t understand. What happened to all that personal growth and stuff? Three months and he’s already regressing. It has to be some kind of record. 

“We can’t just kill it. That’s dumb. Plus knowing you, you’ll get cursed as a Chihuahua for all eternity.” 

“Don’t be so-“ 

“You were literally turned back into a _teenager _a couple months ago,” Stiles declares. “My point still stands.”__

Derek scowls but actually listens, which is progress. “So, I’ll just approach it and see what it does.” 

And that is just stupid. “Why? So I get a front row seat when it mauls you to death?” 

“Fine,” Derek concedes. “Then you go.” 

How is that a better solution? Derek really needs to develop his problem solving skills into actually being capable of solving problems. This is just embarrassing, really. 

“So you can watch it maul _me _to death?” Stiles cries. “No thanks, man.”__

“I’d stop it before it got that far,” Derek promises and Stiles is actually convinced he might not be a totally bad guy after all, until he adds, “Probably.” 

“Screw you, dude. I did not sign up for this.” 

Derek looks like he’s about to throw Stiles bodily into the woods and leave him there. Which, no, not team work behaviour _at all._

“What do you plan to do then?” he demands. “Sit around and wait for it to do something?” 

“That sounds safe,” Stiles agrees, amiably. “I’m all for that plan.” 

Derek huffs out an angry sound and opens his door, climbing out before Stiles can stop him. Which is not going to go down. Stiles is so sick of him offering himself up as monster kibble. Just because he can heal himself doesn’t mean he should fulfil the token role of pincushion. Stiles is vehemently against this decision. 

“Hey, wait!” he cries, switching off the engine before scrambling out of the jeep after him.

He barely gets a hand around Derek’s bicep before he’s being shoved against the side of his jeep. And that definitely brings back fond memories. “Oh really? This is how we’re playing it, tough guy?“ 

“Stay here.” 

Stiles pushes ineffectively at Derek’s shoulders. “First of all, no,” he says grunting with exertion as Derek doesn’t budge an inch. “And second, what is it with you always pushing me into stuff?” 

Derek drops his hands away and Stiles nearly stumbles face first into the dirt. At the last moment he saves himself and Derek steps back with a shrug. “I like the way you move,” he explains simply. 

Which, what? What does that even _mean_? He has definitely never said it before. Stiles would have remembered. And without any doubt, obsessed over it. 

“I sense this has nothing to do with my pop n’ locking skills. This is a predator/prey thing isn’t?" Stiles accuses, openly frowning now. "You just want to hunt me.” 

Derek turns away with an odd expression on his face like he’s only just realised what he said and how strange it sounded. Is he embarrassed? That's kind of hilarious, actually. Stiles would like to know if Derek is capable of blushing. 

For science. 

“No,” he says tersely. “Just stay here.” 

“I’m gonna go with no,” Stiles decides, moving to follow. 

Derek’s back stiffens as he stalks away. It doesn’t escape Stiles’ notice that also he increases his pace. Subtle. He’s going to have to do more than that to get rid of him. Scott’s known him since they were kids and still hasn’t figured it out yet. Not that Scott has any intentions of getting rid of him. 

“Godammit, Stiles-“ 

When he reaches out and grabs at Derek’s shoulder, Stiles can’t resist poking the bear. 

“But Derek,” he insists, intentionally making his voice deeper. _“We’re brothers now.” ___

Derek looks super angry at that. It’s great. Stiles has missed these beautiful exchanges like burning. He looks pointedly down at Stiles’ hand still on his shoulder with the highest degree of murderous intent so he quickly removes it.

Still worth it though. 

“I will break every finger in your right hand,” Derek promises darkly. “Then you won’t be able to touch your dick for _weeks. _”__

And that is one powerful threat. Maybe he should dial down his Derek ribbing until he’s in a slightly less dangerous mood. They might have to ease back into the routine after so much time apart. Stiles totally understands. He also needs to protect his right to jerk it. 

“Who says I don't have someone that’ll do that for me?” 

Derek’s shoulders tense up even further. He looks like he’s trying to regress into himself. It’d be funny, if Stiles didn’t feel like punching him a little. The stubborn ass is literally trying to get them both killed. This is such a terrible idea. 

“Since when?” Derek shoots back. “You don’t smell like you’re dating anyone.” 

Stiles makes a strangled sound of outrage. “That is so invasive, you dick,” he snaps. “I don’t ask you about your and Braeden’s sex life.” 

Derek actually stops his trek through the trees to turn back and give him a weird look. “Why would you?” 

“I wouldn’t,” Stiles repeats, getting lost in his own confusion of what the hell Derek’s talking about now. There's always gotta be a hidden meaning with this guy. “That’s the point. That shit’s private. You and Braeden can get as freaky as you want.” 

Derek pauses like he’s in the midst of figuring something out before his expression clears with understanding and a frowns shadows his face. 

“You don’t know anything,” he mutters, scowling as he disappears beneath a huge low hanging branch that nearly enshrouds the entire path. 

Stiles vision is already debatable in the darkness so he takes it slow as he hunches over to duck under it and follow him. 

He trips over a log. Naturally. 

Derek catches him though, claws digging deeply into his arm as he does so. 

“Thanks, buddy,” he murmurs, patting gratefully at his arm. 

His completely hairy arm, like matted fur. Oh no, it _is _fur.__

__And then Derek chooses that moment to call out from several paces ahead, “For what?” ____

“Oh, shit!” Stiles screeches and wrenches himself away, dodging blindly to his right. The clouds uncover the moon hanging above and the resulting moonlight spilling below illuminates exactly what they’re dealing with. “Monster. Bear. Oh my God. Hairy monster bear!” 

The bear in question which is standing on its hind legs, what the fuck, roars out a very unnatural bear sound. Definitely a monster bear. Stiles trips again but this time Derek’s catching him around the ribcage and tugging. He goes flying forward into Derek’s chest just as wind ruffles against his back. From where he’s just barely avoided a paw swipe. 

Oh, Jesus that would’ve hurt. 

“Run,” Stiles cries, panicked and scrambling over Derek like he plans to climb over his corpse to get to freedom. He’ll totally do it. “Just fucking run!” 

Derek doesn’t need further encouragement. He stares at the gigantic monster bearing down on them with wide eyes before spinning around and taking off into the woods seemingly knowing the right direction. And also leaving Stiles in his dust. 

What a jerk. 

“I blame you for this,” Stiles yells, trying to run and crashing into at least five branches he could’ve dodged if he wasn’t out of his mind with terror. “Fucking get back here and help me!” 

Derek’s suddenly at his side as if he never ditched him to begin with. “You’re too slow,” he growls nearly into his ear, voice desperate and full of frustration before he reaches down and lifts Stiles across his shoulders like he’s a hunted deer. 

“What the fu-“ 

Stiles loses his sentence as the world tips sideways. He doesn’t get a second of protest before Derek is taking off at full speed. The monster bear is bumbling through the underbrush behind them and Stiles does not like that it’s close enough that he can hear it. 

They’re gonna die. And it’s all Derek’s fault. 

Surprisingly, in the next moment they’re exploding out of the trees and Derek sprints towards the jeep. Stiles has never been more happy to see it in his life. He’s less happy when Derek dumps him onto his ass by the curb. Pain flares in his butt and he curses as he lands in the dirt, scowling. 

“Did I not. Tell you. That was. A Bad. Idea?” he snaps, gasping as he catches his breath. 

Now would be the perfect time for a panic attack. He's too angry for it at the moment, though. 

Derek’s hunched over and breathing deeply with his hands bracing against his thighs as he recovers from the sudden work out. Stiles is too angry to appreciate how hot a sweaty, glistening Derek is. 

“It’s fine,” he spits out. 

It’s decidedly not fine when the monster bear bursts out of the woods and makes a beeline for them two seconds later. 

Stiles doesn’t even wait for Derek. He just scrambles to his feet and nearly dives over the hood of jeep to get to the driver door. He fumbles for the keys in his pocket and jumps into the car seat, jamming the keys into the ignition. Derek’s already in the passenger side and clutching the car’s frame like he expects to be thrown out of it. 

Stiles pulls the jeep out onto the main road like a fire’s been lit under it. The monster bear doesn’t follow them onto the road as if it’s operating under a territorial motivation and slowly ambles back up into the woods instead. Stiles parks the jeep in a side alley two streets over once he's sure it's safe. Then tries not to throw up both his lungs from breathing so hard. 

“I hate you so much right now,” he announces once his heart has stopped trying to force its way out of his ribcage. “What _was _that?” ____

“I don’t know,” Derek admits and his voice sounds strained. Stiles will bet his own arm Derek is as shit scared by what just transpired. He may be a tough werewolf but that was a huge fucking bear they just encountered out there. Stiles actually thinks it might be larger than a normal sized bear, if that’s possible. “But it was big and angry.”

“No duh,” Stiles agrees. “Scott should probably know about this.” 

He’s scrounging around the car floor for his cell phone that he dropped down there when Derek reaches out to stop him. 

“Let’s wait until tomorrow,” he suggests. “He could probably use a break.” 

“And we just let that thing roam around eating people? You didn’t even _hear _it sneak up on us.” ____

That does not seem like a plan at all. Derek is not to be trusted with potential solutions for anything.

“It’s not coming out of the Preserve,” Derek says confidently. “When it chased the alp into the woods, it must've made the area its territory. Since we’re already here we should just wait around and watch what happens.”

With some grumbling, Stiles starts the ignition and pulls back toward the fringes of the Preserve again. At the very least if the monster bear comes for them they’ll be able to see its approach. He switches the engine off so the sound doesn’t draw it’s attention and settles in for a long wait. 

“Thanks for abandoning me there, by the way,” Stiles mutters eventually. “So much for bonding.” 

Derek shrugs, apathetically at the accusation. “I came back, didn’t I?” 

Yeah, like that makes it all better. Stiles ignores the urge to kill for the moment as he leans down to search for his cell again without being interrupted. His fingers close over it tucked between the seats. He hums in success and opens up the Google app on his phone. In the next moment, he types in supernatural monster bear and waits for the page to load. May as well give it a shot. 

“What are you doing?” Derek demands peering over at the screen with a frown. 

“Googling our hairy friend out there to find out what it is,” Stiles explains impatiently. “Make yourself useful and warn a guy if it shows up to eat us again.” 

“Anything else I can do for you?” Derek wonders, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Pick up your dry cleaning? Solve world hunger?” 

What an ass. The least he could do after the stunt he just pulled is be the lookout for two seconds. “So you admit the key to solving world hunger is through my dry cleaning?” 

Derek grunts out a helpless, exasperated sound. It’s not his fault. He’s going against a pro here. Stiles thinks he can actually argue someone to death. At the very least he and Derek are giving it a run for their money. 

Despite any misgivings, the online search churns out a lot of results. Naturally, he selects the website at the top of the page and goes from there. It’s not as difficult as he expected. 

“So, it’s called a Bugbear,” he announces a moment later. “Sort of like the Boogeyman but in bear form, usually evil. Oh goody, something different for us.” 

“What does it want?” he asks. 

Stiles shrugs a little and keeps scrolling. “It’s a hunter. So food. And it’s not picky on what or specifically who, it eats. You'd make a good wolfy snack, I'd bet.” 

“Great,” Derek says with little enthusiasm. “So how do we stop it?” 

Hmm, that might not be as easy as it sounds. Stiles ignores that loaded question for the moment and keeps reading. “No idea. They have insane hearing and sight.” 

“And stealth,” Derek points out unhelpfully. “I didn’t even know it was there until you started screaming.” 

“Some werewolf you are,” he mutters. “If there was a werewolf test on how to werewolf you would absolutely fail.” 

“Despite your inspiring confidence, I can actually handle myself.” 

Stiles rolls his eyes and tries not to laugh outright. That might get him poked with a few sharp claws. “Just because you’re not dead, doesn’t mean you’re a success story,” he argues. “The numerous near deaths speak for themselves.” 

Derek looks like he might be rethinking the not-killing-him thing. 

But at least he’s not pushing him into stuff. Stiles got a massive forehead bruise last time his head got slammed into the steering wheel. Of course, at the time he had pimped Derek out so the response had more or less been fair. His phone buzzes as he’s in the middle of reading about how Bugbears prefer caves and Scott’s text turns up on his screen. 

_Hows it goin w Derek? U need backup? Or did u finally get near his junk? ___

Stiles splutters out an indignant sound and immediately turns the screen away so Derek won’t be able to read it. Scott is walking a dangerous line between overly supportive and openly sabotaging any chances of Stiles living comfortably in denial. These are dangerous times. 

_WTF dude? Not cool. Dealin w evil bear. U keep doin ur thing. Super stealth mode in Pres but were staking ___

Stiles glances at Derek who’s openly frowning at him. The mistrust is real. One might think he’s realised Stiles is up to something. Which he’s not. He’s just very invested in hiding any more than platonic feelings in regards to Derek Hale. It's all self preservation from here on out. 

_Ok. Let me know if it leaves the preserve. Tell his abs how u feel ___

“Fuck you, man,” Stiles mutters, stuffing his cell phone into his jeans without replying. He knows his face is flushed when he turns to look at Derek. “Scott wants to be clued in if it leaves the Preserve.”

Derek’s frowning at him now. “What’s wrong with your face?” he asks. 

Jesus, don’t sugarcoat it. Stiles scowls. That’s certainly not endearing him to Derek much. 

“Nothing, you dick. It is the usual form of perfection.” 

Derek only raises an eyebrow. “I thought that’s only how you describe Lydia?” 

Stiles pretends to scan the trees in order to avoid this conversation for as long as possible. Derek has no intention of dropping anything though because he lives to make Stiles’ life difficult. “Maybe I’ve grown to love myself more since I last saw you.” 

Derek snorts and slumps a little in the seat, getting comfortable. They might be here for a while. Turns out Stiles is not as adverse to that as he'd like Derek to believe. “I think we’re all pretty clear on how much you love yourself. Frequently. It’s shocking you don’t have carpal tunnel.” 

“For someone who seems to be against discussion of my dick, you certainly bring it up a lot,” Stiles points out with a sly smirk. “Something you want to tell me?” 

Derek’s expression darkens and the danger resurfaces again. It’s not his fault the guy makes it so easy. He can’t help it, really. 

“Yeah, now that I think about it,” he says, bristling. “Did I mention removing the helmet brought back all the wolf memories of when I was split apart?” 

Oh, fuck. Stiles frantically tries to think of what terrible thing he did. Except he didn’t. There was no junk touching or unabashed voyeurism. In fact, Stiles was a model citizen about the whole thing. 

“That touch you kept doing,” Derek continues and fuck. Right, that he actually _did _do. He’s dead. Stiles is so dead. His fingers inch slowly down to the door handle as he prepares to make a run for it. He'll dive out onto the concrete if he has to. He’ll take a hungry monster bear over a furious Derek any day. “It’s for dogs, isn’t it?” ____

Shit. Oh no. Je regrette. Stiles so didn’t plan on dying this evening. He still has pizza to look forward to. And touching his junk. So much life left to live. And with extra pepperoni.

“Not just dogs,” he promises, heart beating out a frantic rhythm in his chest. “You can use it on people.” 

“But it’s mostly used on dogs,” he clarifies, eyes narrowing. 

And yeah, Derek definitely knows what's up. The end is nigh. 

“And horses,” Stiles adds helpfully. 

Derek makes a sound of rage and lunges across the space for him. 

This is the end. Stiles regrets everything, he does. 

In the same moment he flinches away, unlocking the door as if he’s planning to fall backwards out of it and run. He’ll make a dash for safety if he has to. Derek’s eyes widen and he reaches out at the last second to seize the door and yank it shut behind him. His other hand wraps around Stiles’ back and anchors him into the seat so that he has no option but to basically fall into Derek's chest. 

The space between them narrows to an uncomfortable degree as Stiles tips forward. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he gasps, wondering if this is some new way Derek kills people now, by nearly hugging them. “You’re not a dog. Please don’t kill me.” 

To his surprise though, Derek doesn’t reply. Or move. At all. He keeps perfectly still, eyes focused intently on something behind him. 

Wait. That’s not...? Stiles has a bad feeling about this. 

“Don’t move,” Derek whispers and he’s so close that his warm breath fans out tantalisingly across Stiles’ face. 

Oh God. It _is _isn’t it? Stealth monster bear returns.__

“It’s behind me, isn’t it?” Stiles panics. “Oh God, I’m gonna die.” 

“Just hold still,” he mutters which is not in the way of properly comforting someone. 

It does not escape Stiles’ notice that if monster bear rips the hinges of the door off he will be its first victim. 

Derek exhales a soft noise of relief just as Stiles catches sight of the bear in his peripheral vision moving around the hood of the car. Circling them. This Bugbear really has a thing about territories. It’s probably going to enjoy eating them. Stiles is not onboard with that plan. 

“Can you reach the keys without moving too much?” Derek whispers from his position half wrapped around him and Stiles barely turns his head to check. 

It's a horrible question to be asking him directly. He is all about the moving too much. That is where Stiles lives. 

Maybe he can, though. It can't hurt to try. He slowly inches his fingers out and they manage to wrap around the key chain. He waits to turn the ignition though. They’re probably going to have only one shot at this. 

“When I tell you, start the jeep and drive as fast as you can.” 

Stiles does not like this kind of pressure. “You’re the werewolf. Can’t you just fight it?” 

Derek makes this irritated noise. “Have you seen the size of it? It’ll tear me in half and use you as a toothpick. We’re better off retreating.” 

“You mean fleeing,” he points out. 

“Yes,” Derek agrees. “Like cowards. You have any objections to that?” 

“None at all.” 

They’re silent as they wait. Nothing can be heard, not even the weird snuffling bear noises it’s probably making right now. Bugbears give stealth a whole new meaning. Stiles is never going into the woods again. At least, not without someone else who it'll eat first as he makes his escape. 

“Now,” Derek shouts twisting away and back into his seat as Stiles turns the ignition and slams his foot onto the accelerator. 

The jeep takes off but not before the Bugbear gets its claws around the bumper and pulls the metal free. 

“Holy shit,” Stiles cries as they somehow manage to make it to freedom. “You’re paying for that.” 

“Just drive,” Derek snaps. 

He listens, but that’s only because he doesn’t want to die. It has nothing to do with Derek. It’s too hard not to peer in his revision mirror to make sure they’re in the clear. Which they’re not, because it’s following them. Fucking fantastic. 

Actually, there might be a plan to be put into motion with this. Stiles eases off the accelerator and waits for it to catch up a little. 

“What are you doing?” Derek demands, looking over his shoulder to watch the Bugbear's rapid approach. 

“Maybe we can lead it out of town,” Stiles suggests. “Much more preferable to being eaten.” 

“Lead it where?” Derek snaps. “The next town over?”

Right. That’s probably not going to fix anything. On the positive side monster bear would then become the next town's problem. Though to be fair, they most likely don’t have a rag tag, motley crew of monster hunters at their disposal. 

So it’s not much of a fair fight. 

Stiles starts accelerating again. “What do you suggest then?” 

The silence is not at all helpful. Derek’s expectant glare is probably worse. What? Like he expects Stiles’ brain to do all the work now? The least he could do after shooting down a plan is make a counter plan or add some other kind of useful input. 

There’s a loud crashing sound as the monster bear smashes into the back of the jeep. They’re literally being rear ended by supernatural creatures these days. The force of it throws the car forward, tires screeching as they momentarily lift off of the road before crashing back down again. Definitely not good for the suspension. 

Stiles nearly loses control of the wheel as the seatbelt across his chest basically whiplashes him in his seat. 

He yells out a curse just as Derek’s clawed hand comes down onto his thigh as if that's somehow going to help the situation. Considering Stiles jerks in surprise, pushing his foot harder onto the accelerator, it’s actually not a terrible idea. It might lead toward being a dangerous distraction if not for Derek quickly pulling his hand back at the exact moment Stiles’ heartbeat spikes. 

So then he’s definitely been listening in. That is not at all comforting. 

“Drive, drive,” Derek insists urgently and Stiles doesn’t need to be told twice. Well, maybe he does. But the sentiment is there at least. 

They’ve barely made it past the road leading out of Beacon Hills to the main highway when he sees the approaching headlights and gets a terrible, horrifically stupid and ill advised idea. He’s barely edging off the accelerator before Derek’s hand is coming down onto the bone of his shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” he demands, head turned to watch the evil monster bear gaining on them. 

“Just trust me, okay?” Stiles says beseechingly. “I’ve got an idea.” 

Derek pulls his hand back and sits up straighter as if he’s expecting a sudden car accident. Which is probably a fair assessment. Stiles doesn’t have much faith in this plan either but seeing as he can’t think of anything else, it’ll have to do. How else would someone stop a rampaging monster bear that invites terror into innocent people’s hearts? The risk level is unfortunately higher than he’d like but he’ll take it over letting that thing within two inches of him ever again. 

Small sacrifices, really. 

He waits until the headlights are close enough to blind his eyes, double checks the monster bear is still close behind them before he suddenly jerks the wheel to the left, cutting across the lane and into the oncoming traffic. There’s a loud horn announcing its disapproval of his plan just as Derek reaches out like he’s going to grab the wheel. Stiles smacks at his hand before he can interfere. 

“Stiles! What are you-?” 

It’s a close call. Stiles knows it’s a close call because that’s how he’s planned it to go down. They’re barely pulling offroad, missing the opposite vehicle by inches as the jeep bumps and jostles across the uneven grass and rocks. 

The monster bear might be fast but it’s certainly not fast enough to avoid the 18 wheeler semi truck suddenly in its path when it tries to follow. 

There’s a terrible screeching sound just as Stiles hits the breaks and whips his head back to watch the damage. The monster bear undeniably disappears beneath the truck's monster tires and he figures it's as best a solution as any. Especially when the truck's going so fast it doesn’t even stop. 

Although, there's no doubt the driver noticed the sudden bumpy terrain and is electing to ignore it. Luckily, Stiles was counting on them being an asshole. It’s awful, but Stiles is surprised the thing didn’t get caught under one of the wheels. He’s seen a lot of pictures that usually suggest that is the typical outcome for truck roadkill. 

He’s breathing deeply and lets the jeep idle as he tries to peer out the window along the road to survey said roadkill. It’s a gigantic mass of red brick fur in the middle of the road and what’s worse is Stiles knows they’re going to have to move it. The last thing anyone needs is a random civilian pulling over and discovering there are such things as monster bears. 

“ _That _was your plan?” Derek demands and why does he sound angry? Stiles did all the fast paced action stunts here. The least he could be is astoundingly impressed by his mad skills. ____

“It got rid of the monster bear didn’t it?” Stiles retorts.

“What happened to the not killing part of the plan?” Derek reproaches. “I though we were supposed to be doing the right thing.” 

As if Derek can even talk with his track record. Has he forgotten the part where he was making all those terrible, megalomaniac power hungry decisions? He can’t argue this even if he’s turned over a new leaf. At least, that's what Stiles is choosing to believe. 

“Did you not see the size of that monster?” Stiles replies, redirecting Derek's own words back at him. “Killing it _was _the right thing to do.”__

Derek just grunts his disagreement as if Stiles makes him so frustrated that he can’t even form a complete sentence. Which is so unfair, it’s ridiculous. 

Next stakeout they end up on Stiles is going to- hold on. He pauses in the middle of thinking up a particular unflattering comment as he realises. They were just on a stakeout together. Alhough the length of said stakeout could be argued. And they went hunting for a monster in the woods together. Damn. They are literally acting out at least half of Stiles’ date fantasies right now. 

Holy shit, this is just unfair. 

Derek’s grits his teeth and the tendons in his neck bunch up. “Will you quit that?” 

And can he read minds now? How did he know what he’s thinking? Stiles flushes and feels his heart beat gallop out of range of regular beats per minute. “Quit what?” he asks but its sounds stilted and unnatural to his own ears. 

Smooth cover. Derek will never suspect anything now. Jesus, he knows exactly what. Maybe. 

“Smelling like that.” 

Like what exactly? Stiles showered earlier before he left home but he still subtly sniffs at an arm pit for any unexplained body odour. But no. Nothing but nice and fresh smells here. What the hell is Derek talking about now? 

“Like what? I showered?” 

“Arousal,” Derek spits out like it’s a curse word. “You reek of it whenever I get within three feet of you.” 

He cannot be this oblivious. Jesus. Stiles might actually have to draw a diagram for the dude. No joke. 

“Gee, Derek, what do you think that could mean?” 

It seems they’re opening the box after all. Stiles really wishes they wouldn’t. The Derek Paradox is just easier to deal with when the lid is firmly shut. 

Only when he looks at Derek so that he can tell him exactly where he can shove his werewolf observation skills, the asshole is a lot closer than he remembered. The tension escalates to the point where Stiles is rendered speechless, wholly distracted by trying to decipher the emotions on Derek’s face. It’s a sad thing that he can’t tell if Derek’s feeling murderous or bursting with the intent of how much he’s into him. 

But then he’s leaning in, possibly to deliver a scathing death threat and Derek’s eyes drop to his mouth. And that's as good an answer as any. Stiles surges forward to close the space between them before even thinking about it. 

At the first insistent press of Derek’s mouth, Stiles' own opens with a soft hum of astonishment, hands scrabbling for purchase across his taut jawline as Derek’s hand edges into his hair, supporting the base of his skull. And tilts his head to deepen the kiss. 

It’s momentary, overwhelmingly hot and nothing like he expected. That is before the gut wrenching, initial kick of desire and fervour has all the cylinders in his brain firing at once. His fingers slide free of Derek’s stubble and drop down to push at his chest. 

Derek stops instantly and tries to draw back which is right about when Stiles realises how easily they’ve wrapped themselves around each other in the span of a few seconds and just how unthinking and comfortable the action was. 

It’s unfair. Stiles hates having to stick to his morals and be the bigger person. Derek’s not giving him much choice here but. 

“What the hell was that?” he gasps, trying to get his breath back as they pull apart. “Oh my God, not cool, man.” 

Derek quickly clears his throat and presses a hand against his forehead like he can’t believe he just did that and he’s somehow lost his mind. He absolutely has because he just _kissed _Stiles. And he has a fucking girlfriend. This is most assuredly two steps back in the ways of personal growth.__

“I know you want me,” he admits. “But that’s no excuse for what I just did. I’m sorry. It was a mistake to force myself on you like that.” 

Which, what now? 

“A mistake?” Stiles demands angrily before he remembers the pressing issue at hand. “You have a girlfriend, dickface.” 

Derek frowns, as if it's Stiles’ behaviour that he'd classify as odd in this scenario. 

“Do you mean, Braeden?” he ventures, nonplussed. “We broke up before I left Beacon Hills.” 

Stiles is going to punch him. How can Derek be such an idiot half of the time? “And you didn’t think to mention that when I brought her up earlier?” 

“I didn’t know what you meant,” he argues back. “If you had just asked me-“ 

“I did!” 

“Then I would have told you,” he finishes already reaching for Stiles again as if he plans to convince him just how single he really is through use of his mouth alone. Stiles would be all on board with that plan, except it’s not really good enough as explanations go. He’s going to need more backstory here. 

“So what, you suddenly like me now?” 

Derek scowls like he can’t believe anyone would have the nerve to ask him to explain his feelings. Right, because Stiles is being unreasonable here. 

“I’ve always known you were into me. You might think you're subtle but you’re not and despite that you never asked for anything. You never pushed the issue. Then when I was cursed you didn’t take advantage of it when you could’ve. Most people I’ve come across, would have.” 

Oh, Jesus. Sometimes Derek is so closed off and guarded that Stiles forgets how messed up he is. When things as awful as that come out of his mouth though, it’s really hard to ignore. 

“So, you’re saying because I’m attracted to you and didn’t take advantage when you were vulnerable like any _decent person _should that I’m entitled to receive sexual favours?” he asks. “My God, Derek are you rewarding me right now because that is so not okay and it’s definitely not a good enough reason to kiss anyone.”__

Derek looks frustrated like he always does whenever they strike up a conversation. Stiles almost wishes they were back to bickering about something stupid. He’s trying gallantly to ignore the way his mouth is still tingling. It’s very distracting and kind of an unpleasant way to be feeling after Derek basically admitted to voluntarily pimping himself out. 

So many levels of wrong. 

“That’s not what I-“ 

Stiles glances over at the monster bear again and heaves out a sigh. “Look, dude. You don’t owe me shit. Yeah, okay I’m into you but that means nothing unless you feel the same. You are under no obligation to make me happy. You won’t get kicked out of the pack or any of us will stop being your friends or respect you any less. I'm the one responsible for my own happiness and this is your choice.” 

He opens the door before he says anything more stupid than the life lecturing he just unleashed upon the unsuspecting werewolf. But it’s okay, Derek doesn’t have to like him if he doesn’t. Stiles will survive either way. What he won’t survive is Derek believing he owes Stiles a relationship merely because he pined from afar for too many months and never did anything about it. 

That’s just messed up. People have no control over who they’re attracted to and they’re under no obligation to give anyone the time of day if they don’t want. That's like lesson one. 

See how wise Stiles is now? He should try being zen more often. Clearly it suits him. He reaches into the back seat and pulls out his bat before he climbs out and leaves Derek there to reassess his life choices. The expression on his face is only slightly worrying. 

Stiles hopes he didn’t break him. 

It’s probably not safe to be approaching a hopefully dead monster bear on any day, but Stiles hasn’t got many options at the moment. He wipes distractedly at his mouth because now he’s imagining he can somehow still taste Derek there as he edges cautiously over toward the lump of a creature. He watches to see if its body is still moving with potential breaths but it’s still. Deathly still, he’s counting on. 

With a careful pause, he points his bat towards the body and gives it an experimental prod. 

“Poking it with a bat?” Derek wonders in his dry tone that speaks of his intention to forget the conversation they just had as he reaches them. Stiles might not agree with it but he can respect it. And that’s what he’s going to do. “ _That’s _what you’re going with?”__

“I’m sorry, would you rather I touch it with my bare hands and get within range of those claws?” 

Derek sighs and tilts his head to listen. “Doesn’t matter. It’s dead.” 

“Like for realsies? It’s not gonna do the sudden lunge for my throat if I get near it?” 

“I might do it myself if you ever say ‘realsies’ again,” Derek grumbles as he leans down and puts a hand on the monster bear with no concern for personal safety. When it doesn’t actually lunge at anyone, Derek gets his hands under it arms and starts to lift. 

Stiles puts his bat down before he grabs its feet and because it’s so heavy most of his contribution is just helping Derek steer it towards the woods. It doesn’t smell too great either. There is a list of a million things he would rather be doing on a Friday night. 

“Don’t even try and pull that crap,” Stiles mutters. “Not when I know you totally want to make out with me.” 

“I knew I was going to regret that,” Derek admits, grunting with effort and some of the tension between them ebbs away. “The fact that you referred to it as ‘making out‘ only further cements that regret.”

Stiles laughs and nearly drops his hold on the heavy paws. He also tries to ignore how sharp the claws look so close to his face. It’s is definitely not an enjoyable task. 

The price of being the good guys- the inevitable clean up, whether it’s bodies or unmitigated proof of the supernatural. 

“Just to be clear, we are in fact dragging monster bear into the woods so we can bury it, right?” he wonders, nearly dropping one of it's huge paws again. 

Derek gives him a dry look. “No, Stiles we’re going to take it back to my place, skin it and fry it up on my barbeque.” 

Stiles winces a little at the horrible image that brings to mind. “I think, I just became a vegetarian,” he admits as they clear the first row of trees. 

Derek lets the monster bear drop onto the forest floor with a snort of amusement. “You wouldn’t last the day.” 

Stiles drops the feet with a huff of effort, even though he knows how very unnecessary his help was. Derek probably could’ve carried it himself. “Yeah, well you wouldn’t last the hour, wolf man,” he retorts as they head back to his jeep to grab some shovels. 

It’s a sad fact that they sit there along with a spool of rope, flashlight, chains and a pair of handcuffs. Derek raises an eyebrow at all of these items lying in his trunk when Stiles hands him a shovel. 

“What? I like to come prepared.” 

“You need a psychiatrist,” Derek says and Stiles can really appreciate the irony in that. The fact that it’s Derek making this observation is almost laughable. 

“So do you,” he counters, none too nicely. 

What? They’ve both got problems, Stiles is okay with admitting it. 

When they make it back to the spot where they left the body, thankfully it’s still there. There have been several occasions when bodies have vanished on their watch. Stiles is glad this is not the case for once. They get to digging a reasonably shallow grave using the flashlight to see as best they can. Arguably though, Derek can still see better. 

“I do actually like you,” Derek admits when they’re about halfway done. “You were too busy yelling at me to let me say it.” 

Stiles distractedly wipes the sweat from his forehead, nearly dropping the shovel in disbelief. “I wasn’t yelling.“ 

“Yeah, you were,” he says and Derek doesn’t seem like he intends to leave it at that. “You’re so full of-“ 

“Shit?” he guesses. 

“Spirit,” Derek corrects, testily. “Energy. I like arguing everything with you because I’m trying to push your buttons. And I trust you.” 

“Oh-kay and that means you like shoving me into things because?” 

Derek moves another heavy lump of dirt onto their pile. The hole is deep enough to fit the body so Stiles sticks the tip of his shovel into the dirt and goes to help Derek drag it into the hole. 

“Because you’d always run your mouth to try and prove you weren’t scared even when you were and I wanted to show you that you should be afraid,” Derek says with a heavy sigh. “But then you didn’t care, you didn’t care what I am or how much stronger I am than you. You pushed back anyway and that surprised me. I wanted to see you do it again.” 

“I could smell that you were attracted to me but I never intended to bring it up unless you tried to pursue anything further. Which you didn’t, so your age was never a problem. There was still this _thing _between us, though.” ____

“I know!” Stiles agrees, gesturing emphatically between them. “Don’t even get me started on the thing. I will talk for hours.”

“Everyone noticed,” Derek continues. “Every single member of the pack. Your dad included.” 

“My dad?” Stiles demands. “Oh my God. Did he say something to you?” 

“He didn’t need to,” he explains patiently. “I knew what the thing meant. What it could mean. So, I ignored it. Dated other people. But then you’d somehow end up nearby and we’d start bickering all over again and then they’d know. Jennifer knew it. And so did Braeden.” 

Stiles is beginning to think this might be why Braeden never really warmed up to him. And also how she knew so much about the Derek Paradox without really asking. Apparently, it's obvious enough to _see _. Stiles is not pleased that everyone knew of this except himself. ____

“You know,” Stiles admits conversationally as they heave the monster bear into the grave. It hits the dirt with a dull thud. “This is basically how I envisioned our first date would go.”

Derek gives him this bewildered look as if he can’t believe this is the dating scenario that came to mind and that Stiles has been thinking about them dating in the first place. And he has. A lot. 

Then he frowns a little and shrugs. “We do spend a lot of time in the woods,” Derek acknowledges slowly as if he’s not sure he wants to volunteer any body burying urges for the near future. Stiles agrees wholeheartedly that it’s most definitely not a habit they want to get into. 

“We hunt a lot of monsters in the woods,” Stiles clarifies. “At this stage, we’re basically glorified pest control.” 

Derek snorts because he understands the trials they have to endure daily. “Do we get to wear a uniform?” he deadpans. 

“Not with that kind of enthusiasm,” Stiles retorts, trying not to imagine it, specifically with Derek involved. The guy will sniff him out for sure. “Although, I’m sure whatever you wear will be enough to make people’s pants tight.” 

“Don’t objectify my body,” Derek mutters, heaping dirt onto the monster bear just as Stiles starts scooping it in on the opposite end. 

Stiles snickers at that because of course Derek is 100 per cent sassier since his triumphant return from having his head trapped inside a metal cage. “Excuse you, I have matured since pimping you out to lacrosse playing, computer hackers and have done no such thing.” 

Derek only rolls his eyes and piles on more soil. “This coming from the person who recognised me based off of my stomach muscles alone.” 

Stiles chokes a little on his response as his face heats up. So he _had _heard that part after all. And yeah, no contesting it, Derek has definitely gotten all of his wolfy memories since he merged back into a fully functioning person again. And not his magically separated counterpart. ____

“Be glad I like you enough to recognise you,” he argues. “Otherwise think of the horrific alternatives.”

“I’d rather not,” Derek mutters, expression darkening. 

That is probably the wiser choice. Stiles would very much rather not thinking about it, either.

“Did you ever ask Deaton why you were able to take off that cage?” Derek asks quietly as he piles on the last handful of dirt.

Stiles uses his foot to scrape it flat across the surface of the grave as a way to stall before he answers. Even though he never asked how, he’s pretty sure that he knows. It’s still might be something he’s too embarrassed to admit though. 

“No,” he says unevenly. “What does it matter?” 

Derek reaches out and takes Stiles’ shovel before he’s finished patting down the dirt with it. Stiles kind of runs out of excuses not to look at him. “It matters,” he promises. “I did. I wanted to know what it meant so I went to Deaton before I left town. Do you know what he said?” 

This should be good. What was it? Something ambiguously noteworthy, that’s for sure. Stiles still isn’t quite at the forgiveness stage for all the crap Deaton's dragged them through just yet. 

“Something vague and unhelpful?” 

“He said what you did was impossible,” Derek explains. “Because you’re only human and you don’t have magic. You’re a catalyst for change but that shouldn’t have been enough to free me.” 

“Maybe I just got lucky,” he insists poking at Derek’s chest because even now he can’t resist riling him up. 

Huh. Seems like the button pushing thing is mutual. He wonders for a moment why they enjoy it so much. 

But then Derek’s stepping closer with a sharp frown and they’re staring one another down across the small space, full of heat and potential and _something _and suddenly it makes sense. Oh. ____

“You know I can almost taste the denial,” Derek murmurs, frown deepening while they stare at each other. “What Deaton said was that for in order for it to work you had to want it that badly. Want it more than anything else. With every fibre of your being.”

“Maybe I missed your sour face,” Stiles retorts and why the hell does he think that’s a good comeback to basically having his most powerful feelings revealed in a time of desperation and now brought out into the open? 

“I’ve always admired how fiercely you love people,” Derek says. “How loyal you are. I just never expected you could feel that for me.” 

Stiles really doesn’t enjoy this kind of talk. He’d much prefer the bickering. Less chance to make an ass of himself. “I would still like to reiterate that you are under no obligation to date me whether it’s out of pity or some misplaced ideals of duty or whatever.” 

Derek just sighs like Stiles is being the difficult one here and reaches out to place his hands on his shoulders. His soil darkened hands, Stiles can’t help but notice and happily not give two shits about. 

“Hey, don’t give me that,” Stiles protests. “If that’s the case I’m saving us both a lot of pining and angst here. You should be thankful of my forward thinking.” 

Derek scowls at him. “Would you prefer to keep talking, Stiles?” he wonders softly, fingers sliding across his shoulders in a frustratingly alluring way. “Or will you let me taste your mouth again?” 

Stiles’ heart rabbits in his chest as his jaw drops at the brazen declaration. “Why’d you have to say it like that?” he demands. “You couldn’t have just asked to kiss me?” 

“This is better,” Derek announces sliding a hand down to cover Stiles’ chest and feel his heart pumping frantically away. He resents how warm it feels. There is a lot of resentment directed Derek’s way, especially considering how tight Stiles’ jeans are now. 

“This is worse,” Stiles protests even as he pulls Derek in. “You’re trying to get me to humiliate myself.” 

Derek smirks but allows himself to be tugged forward. “What’s the point of messing with the natural order of things?” 

Ouch. What a jerk. Stiles might be inclined to kick his ass if he had the power to do so. “I’ll have you know that your words can’t hurt me because I’m only interested in you for your body.” 

Derek’s already leaning in as his smile reveals enough teeth to make Stiles nervous. His fingers smooth through Stiles’ hair and feel amazing, trailing across his skull as he cups the back of his neck. 

“Liar,” he murmurs and with an intense expression on his face, closes the distance between them. 

Stiles explodes into ill-timed laughter against the first press of Derek’s lips to his mouth. It’s probably a mood killer. Most definitely not the romantic stuff they were aiming for. Derek pulls back with a scowl because apparently he’s not a fan of being laughed at. 

“Are you trying to seduce me right now?” Stiles crows, gasping. “Is this you being sexy? Like I’ve seen you fake flirting before, but Jesus.” 

Derek lets his hands fall away and steps back as if Stiles just transformed into a contagious disease. The notion does not fill him with any sense of warmth. It’s the opposite of flattering. Stiles senses his pride is going to take some direct hits before the night is over. 

“Don’t spare my feelings,” Derek encourages, voice dripping with disdain. “It’s not like I’ve never been hurt before.” 

And that is so not playing fair. Stiles might be worried he’d crossed a line if not for the apparent tone of mockery. The fact that Derek only rolls his eyes really brings out the urge to punch him. 

“You are such an asshole,” Stiles says and he sounds giddy. “This is going to be _so _great.” ____

Then he’s tugging Derek back and their mouths finally meet again without anymore interruptions.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Nobody’s surprised. 

Apparently, all of them decided his extraordinary ability to remove Derek’s curse was akin to a love declaration. Which is both flattering and insulting. Stiles can’t actually decide what to feel about it.

His dad is not exactly pleased but then he’s not exactly against it either. Though, he insists on the ‘door always open’ rule and ‘no Derek Hale through your bedroom window’ policy and declares that Derek will come over for dinner at least once at week. 

At first, in theory, it seems hilarious, mostly at Derek’s expense but when it turns out they both prefer to gang up on Stiles, he quickly changes his mind. Because they have been secret bonding behind Stiles' back and he hates them both equally. There is much regret to be had during those hours of torture. 

They don’t immediately get around to bumping uglies. Despite his improvement, Stiles is ultimately still focused on putting himself back together before getting intimate yet and Derek isn’t in much of a rush anyway. Though they do make out a hell of a lot. There is a lot of stubble burn and Stiles loves all of it. 

They do talk about sex though, what they’re comfortable with and what they don’t want. Considering Stiles hasn’t been with a guy before, he’s interested in trying everything. Ticking all of the boxes just to be extra thorough. Spooning is a deal breaker, though. He likes to cuddle, okay? He also finds out Derek’s has a little more experience in the dude on dude action when he passingly mentions the couple of guys he'd hooked up with when living in New York with Laura. 

Stiles presses for further details because he’s a nosy little shit. 

Malia isn’t as upset about it as he'd assumed she might be. When he tries to do the nice thing and give her a heads up about the status of his new relationship she just shrugs her shoulders and says, “You guys have a thing. I get it.” 

And not only is the fact that she is aware of the thing more disturbing but her acceptance of the matter freaks him out a little bit. It’s still awkward as hell though. But they work through it as best they can. They're definitely friends, for sure. 

They complete their SAT's. Everyone is pleased with their results. Even Malia. Study groups help, after all. They all graduate soon after. Stiles gets accepted into nearly all the colleges he applied for so his greatest problems involve selecting the right one for him, fighting off every supernatural guest star of the week with his werewolf boyfriend and the rest of his pack whilst finding a proper sleep schedule. 

Before they can even start deciding what colleges they plan on going to, the anniversary comes up. No one mentions it but there’s a tension that lingers in the group that makes Stiles’ chest hurt when the day hurtles closer. Even Derek is subdued. 

Fed up with it all, Stiles sends a mass text to the pack on the day. 

He’s in the middle of telling his mom what’s been going on lately, mainly just the highlights while placing her favourite flowers at the front of her grave when he senses someone in the cemetery behind him. 

Derek’s hand comes down onto his shoulder and it’s probably weird that he can tell it’s him just by the way he grips down, anchors himself. 

“You alright?” he wonders in this tone that hints at how much he knows he isn’t. 

Derek knows a thing or two about loss. They can definitely relate to one another in that regard. Stiles doesn’t answer but climbs to his feet with a small breath. He can always come back and finish up his talk later. This day isn’t about his mom. 

“Are they here?” he wonders as they head over towards the place where she’s buried. 

Derek entwines their hands and listens out for the rest of their pack. “Mostly everyone.” 

When they reach the grave most of the group has gathered. Lydia isn’t here yet. Stiles feels like there’s a reason for that. 

“Hey guys,” he greets, slowly. “I know we haven’t really talked about her since it happened but I know we need to do this. For Allison. To say goodbye. Because she deserves a proper farewell and we owe it to her. So uh- who wants to go first?” 

Scott just kind of gives him this helpless look and it’s so destroyed that Stiles’ gut churns. This day is awful for all of them. An entire year since Allison died. 

“I will,” Lydia announces shakily from behind them and her cheeks are wet, eyes glassy with tears. 

She takes Scott’s free hand, the one that isn’t holding Kira’s and talks. And talks. 

They all do. About how much they miss her or how some of them wish they could've known her better. It’s not exactly closure. But it’s close. It’s something they all needed. Stiles is just glad they were able to give her the proper goodbye she deserved. 

Before they allow themselves to grieve. 

Finally.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Stiles jolts into consciousness, arms outstretched as he sits up in one fluid movement. 

He’s momentarily confused as to what woke him when he wasn’t actually in the middle of a nightmare before he catches sight of Derek guiltily standing in the corner of his bedroom. As if that’s not weird at all. Considering his adolescent experiences though, Stiles is willing to make some allowances for him.

“You come through the window?” Stiles half whispers as he rubs blearily at his eyes. 

Derek gives him this weird look. “No, the front door was unlocked,” he says scratching the back of his skull as if he’s regretting being here. “Why?” 

Stiles decides not to mention the ‘no Derek Hale climbing through your window’ policy. It’s never come up before, why mess with a good thing? 

“No reason,” he yawns. “You gonna come and cuddle me or what?” 

Derek rolls his eyes like it’s such a hardship but he’s already in the midst of toeing off his shoes and shrugging off his jacket. Yeah, Stiles is the unreasonable one here. 

“What’s up?” he wonders as he lifts the blankets to assist Derek sliding into his bed. 

He tries not to focus on the novelty of it. Although it’s not the first time they’ve fallen asleep together in his bed or on the couch, it’s still something he can’t quite get used to. Might not ever get used to. 

“Nothing,” Derek says shortly. “You weren’t answering your phone and Scott wanted to know if you're up for a pack dinner tonight.” 

“Oh, yeah sounds good,” he murmurs and Derek’s arms slide around his waist as he settles in. 

It’s pretty much the best thing in the world. Stiles stretches out to grab at his cell phone sitting on the bedside table. The battery’s dead. Oops. 

“Ran out of charge,” Stiles admits, but he’s not that sorry if the alternative is a cuddling Derek in his bed. “My bad.” 

Derek kisses his neck almost unthinkingly. “And you say I have trouble communicating.” 

Stiles snorts. “Pretty sure you have trouble just putting pants on in the morning. There is no limit to _your _troubles.” ____

Derek’s grip tightens a little and the added warmth is really doing things for Stiles’ happy place. “You just want me without pants,” Derek retorts. “Don’t think I don’t see your ulterior motive.”

“Oh, so you _can _see ulterior motives,” Stiles exclaims, struggling to ignore his dick which might be more interested then expected. “I did wonder.” ____

Derek’s hand comes down over Stiles’ head to mush his face further into the pillow. How romantic. “Shut up.”

Stiles releases a strained laugh just as he realises the extent to which certain body parts have revolted against his rational thinking. Derek goes still for a second before Stiles hears him inhale a deep breath. 

Uh oh. Abort mission. 

“Are you hard right now?” Derek demands, incredulous. “We were talking about _pants, _Stiles, not sex.” ____

But technically removing pants leads to sex. Well, obviously not always. The point is that it _can _. Stiles can hardly be judged for making that cognitive jump when any individual in his position would’ve done the same. It’s not like Stiles is the one with his mind in the gutter. ____

“Yeah, but we were talking about _your _pants,” Stiles reiterates. “It’s no shocker that my mind went to picturing you without them.” ____

Derek makes this odd sound but it seems more like he’s amused than offended. Stiles notes the small distance he’s subtly placed between them and tries to turn around to punch Derek in the stomach or something before he notices it. Then his grin widens.

“Is that for me?” Stiles asks delightedly as he gestures at Derek’s crotch which is not as uninterested in the proceedings as he’s trying to make Stiles believe. 

The fucker. 

Derek doesn’t exactly blush because Stiles doesn’t believe he’s capable of that level of flustered, but he does seem a little hesitant of how to proceed. It’s actually incredibly endearing. 

“No, it’s because of the sensual discussion about fabrics,” Derek mocks, rolling his eyes. 

Stiles could deal with at least 95 per cent less attitude. How is he to know precisely what Derek is feeling? Half of the time he’s still trying to decipher the hidden messages in his eyebrows. 

It’s surprisingly not as uncomfortable as one might expect the appearance of a sudden boner to be. And it’s that feeling that tells Stiles he might be a little more than ready to explore the opposite spectrum of his bisexuality for the first time. Same sexing it all the way. But how to suggest that without being pushy? Derek still hasn’t mentioned any specific sexual timeline he’s interested in following. Stiles is shooting in the dark here. 

“So, I uh-“ 

“Do you want to?” Derek asks suddenly, but he’s still keeping his distance and not forcing the issue. Waiting to make a move. 

Stiles might be a little tired with waiting. But he has to be sure about this first. They do not want another Derek-accidentally-pimping-himself-out-when-he-might-otherwise-not-be-interested kind of situation. 

“Do you want to?” Stiles checks. “Are you sure?” 

Derek doesn’t exactly jump in to proclaim his enthusiastic agreement but he does tilt his head in a considering way to look at him. He just looks. As if Stiles’ face might hide the secrets of the universe (spoiler: it doesn’t). 

“I am. But are you sure?” he asks quietly as his hand reaches out to gently trace the edge of Stiles’ cheek and he sounds so serious as if it really matters what Stiles’ next response is. Even if it might be a negative one. 

“Yeah, I’m sure, dude,” Stiles replies patiently. “Now do you wanna keep going back and forth on this or do you wanna touch my dick?” 

Derek just gives him a flat look. “When you say it like that how can anyone resist?” 

But he leans in for a kiss and Stiles surges forward with a ridiculous grin, heart pumping out its excitement as their lips meet. It’s slow, languid. There’s no rush. No deadly monster to interrupt them. Although, acknowledging the fact that his phone is dead right now and Scott can’t contact him, there might be. For all intents and purposes though, he’s going to believe not. 

They sort of automatically wrap around each other. It’s a natural thing they do whenever they're in close proximity these days. Stiles thinks there might be a gravitational pull at work. 

Since he's already in his boxers, he gets to enjoy the very wonderful experience of helping Derek out of his shirt. Exposing some awesome abs. “Let me know if there’s anything triggering for you. Any definite no-no's.” 

“No licking my stomach,” Derek says immediately and Stiles tries not to get too disappointed about losing that golden opportunity. When Derek doesn’t offer anything else on the subject though, Stiles lets it go without much encouragement. 

He can still touch. That he can work with. No problem. 

“What about kissing?” he wonders, letting his hands roam down to the area in question. 

It’s just as great as he imagined. It’s even better when Derek tilts his hips up as a way of edging into the touch and brings their lower halves together. Pleasure licks up Stiles’ spine as he cautiously moves his hips against Derek’s, pressing into the friction. 

“Yeah,” Derek agrees a little breathlessly. “I- yeah.”

Stiles is torn between dry humping Derek likes nobody's business or getting his mouth onto his skin. Preferably some hard muscle. Which means basically any inch of Derek he can reach. It’s a short battle. Stiles works himself languorously against Derek as he deliberates the very important choice he’s faced with. 

“Why does your face look like that?” Derek asks between bruising kisses. His hands feel like they’re everywhere and nowhere at once. Stiles thinks he might hate it. Or love it. “Do you want to stop?” 

Stiles tilts his head back as he splutters out an offended sound. “No. All good over here,” he announces as he gently encourages Derek onto his back, climbing onto his chest while Derek drags him along in the movement. 

There’s a pause as he reorients himself and realigns their bodies again. He quickly decides that he most definitely likes being on top when Derek gives him this hungry look and slowly rolls his hips up. 

It’s too good for words. Stiles splays his fingers across Derek’s chest and feels a deep body quiver erupt at the warmth. His cock jerks in his boxers when he brushes across a nipple and watches Derek’s eyes darken with want. 

The dilemma comes back full force when the prize in question is right in front of him. Stiles uses his hands on Derek’s chest as support as he ruts against the clothed pressure of Derek’s dick. It’s hard enough that Stiles can nearly feel every inch of it as it outlines Derek’s jeans. They definitely need to get rid of them. 

“You’re doing it again,” Derek groans and grips Stiles’ hipbones, helping direct the path of contact between them. 

“This is my face,” Stiles grumbles around a gasp. “I literally cannot change it, so quit bitching.” 

He leans down to capture Derek’s mouth just because he needs to put his mouth on something or he’s going to die. Derek’s just as happy with the decision and softly cradles Stiles’ skull as coaxes his mouth open. The initial surge of tongue is entirely welcome. Stiles gets so distracted exploring Derek’s mouth he nearly forgets about his dick until Derek is working his hips in a small circle again, creating friction that is hurting his brain with how amazing it feels. 

“You look like you're having a crisis,” Derek points out, stilling his movements out of concern and making Stiles want to cry for real at the loss. 

The sudden tension in Derek’s muscles makes Stiles feel guilty. The last thing he wants Derek to think is that he’s rejecting him. Or that he's doing something he doesn't want to do. There is a whole hell of a lot of consent coming from Stiles' corner. 

“I am trying to decide between kissing your abs and dry humping the hell out of you,” Stiles finally admits. “You don’t understand my pain, here.” 

Derek actually laughs. “Clearly you’re suffering.” 

Stiles opens his mouth to argue that fact but Derek presses their hips tight together and he loses his train of thought. He is still functioning enough to manage one-syllable words, though. 

“Pants,” he breathes in between placing kisses along Derek’s jawline. 

“You’ve got a clothing kink don’t you?” Derek guesses as he tilts his neck back helpfully so Stiles can keep sucking hickeys into his skin and watch them vanish. 

It’s super weird. And oddly distracting. He needs distracting if he’s going to last for much longer. This is already way more than his dick can handle. 

What if he does have a pants kink? Nothing wrong with that. But that’s not the point he’s making at the moment. 

“Would you just-“ Stiles grumbles against his skin as his hands slide towards Derek’s waistband. “I was trying to suggest you take your pants off, asshole.” 

Derek doesn’t reach out to stop him as he fumbles to undo the first button but he does pause in such a way that makes Stiles stop what he’s doing. If Derek’s freaking out he absolutely wants to know. They stare at one another for a moment as Stiles tries to figure out what unspoken thing just passed between them. Derek’s eyes are like really green. Hypnotic even. What were they doing again? 

“Are you-“ 

“If you ask me if I’m sure one more time, I will take my dick and go,” Stiles warns. 

When Derek does nothing but scowl at him, Stiles chalks that up as their first failed sexual encounter and moves to roll off of him. Which is fine, there is zero resentment at that. Stiles absolutely wants Derek to feel comfortable about this. He's gathered a lot of Derek's sexual experiences could've gone better. 

The theory of retreat is flawless but the execution is made difficult by Derek tightening his grip around Stiles’ hips to prevent him from leaving. There may be some issue here. 

“It’s fine,” Derek promises with the right amount of eye contact to suggest he is, in fact, being truthful. Good, truth is what he's hoping for. Stiles settles back in without much protest. “Go ahead.” 

“So, I’ve got to do all the heavy lifting?” Stiles grouses but he’s eagerly reaching for the second button of Derek’s jeans so the point is moot. 

It's what they usually do. They'll complain about things for an unreasonable amount of time and then end up making out anyway. There's a system. 

“You had no problem before,” Derek retorts and just for that Stiles forgoes his battle with Derek’s pants to shift a little upward and start kissing down his chest. 

The muscles kind of quiver under his touch which is doing wonders on his ego but Stiles still has to ask. “This okay?” 

Having Derek glare at him when he’s basically half hovering over his crotch and poised to look up at his scowling face is the greatest thing Stiles has ever witnessed. Mainly because his pupils are blown to hell. 

“You would know if it wasn’t,” he growls, but shuts up quickly after that when Stiles continues on his journey. 

It’s a path made for discovery and Stiles is delighted to notice the skin stretched over the bones of Derek’s ribs is particularly sensitive. For future reference. Turns out wolfman can be ticklish. Stiles just knows there’s endless possibility for that wonderful nugget of knowledge. The suspicious narrowing of Derek’s eyes suggest he might have cottoned onto that fact. 

Stiles keeps kissing a path down Derek’s body to distract him. He also keeps his tongue to himself in the process because he is a considerate dude who respects boundaries. Particularly any of Derek’s boundaries. When he finally gets Derek’s pants undone he realises the new dilemma. 

Apparently, removing a pair of tight fitting jeans when one is already on top of said jean wearer is not as sexy as advertised. 

“This is not at all sexy,” Stiles comments when he finally gives up trying to tug Derek’s jeans off and pulls back to let him do it himself. Probably a lot safer. Last thing he needs is to get kicked in the nuts in the midst of manoeuvring Derek out of his clothes. 

That will not be fun. At all. 

Derek is actually grinning at his frustration because he’s a total jerk who enjoys seeing Stiles suffer. 

“It’s not a performance,” Derek says and then proceeds to look ridiculously alluring as he tugs his jeans past his hips and wriggles out of them. Like some totally mouth-watering underwear model. So unfair. 

Stiles sits on his feet and watches the entire show with an open mouth. Derek must be listening in to his bodily reactions, specific to the exact moment because by the time he’s finished, he’s smirking. What a dick. 

“You suck,” Stiles grumbles, but they’re moving toward each other without any hesitation. Stiles goes straight for Derek’s mouth because he likes to believe he targets the hell out of the thing for many known and obvious reasons. 

If a shirtless Derek wrapped around him is spectacular, then Derek just in his underwear is phenomenal. Stiles has seen the light. He will never top this feeling ever again. Especially when they sort of end up wrestling across the bed in their haste to get their hands on one another. There is a lot of skin contact which feels amazing. 

Stiles immediately aligns their bodies in the best way because he’s a practical motherfucker and he’s aching to come so badly that a mere fresh breeze might just do it for him. Thankfully, it doesn’t. He’s still in the game. 

“I somehow- imagined- you’d talk- more,” Derek mutters in between kisses and Stiles nearly swallows his own tongue in righteous outrage until he considers Derek _imagined _this and ends up messing around with Derek’s tongue instead. What? He’s capricious like that. Plus, it’s Derek’s tongue. In his mouth. He’s basically leaving the mortal plane at this stage. ____

“Fuck- you,” Stiles huffs pulling away to chase his teeth across the edge of Derek’s jaw, trailing towards his ear. He intends to make Derek regret that. And when he reaches the soft shell of Derek’s ear and unleashes a certain thing he can do with his tongue that he's particularly proud of upon the sensitive skin, he’s gratified at Derek’s shaky moan.

“You’re such- a little- shit,” Derek gasps but retaliates by sliding his hands down Stiles’ lower back to grab two handfuls of his ass. And gently squeezes. 

Stiles jolts forward in shock just as Derek grinds his barely clothed dick against Stiles’ very, very happy area. It’s too much. Stiles has been riding the edge of pleasure for nearly an hour at this point. He’s not built to last this kind of torture. At least not before coming at least once. 

His orgasm still takes them both by surprise though and he comes with his face pressed into Derek’s neck with a drawn out moan. Derek speeds up his hips and it’s only two more thrusts before Stiles feels him coming between them. The sudden dampness in his boxers speaks of a job well done. 

“I didn’t even touch your dick,” Stiles complains with a huff of disappointment, as Derek smiles in this completely dopey way that is way more sexy then it should be. 

So, so unfair. 

“Who says we’re done?” Derek argues and Stiles definitely appreciates the hell out of whatever higher entity that thought it was a good idea to bring him into existence. Best decision ever. 

Stiles lets his heart calm down a little but is content to snuggle against Derek for a bit. The dampness between them is a little uncomfortable after a while though because they did just come in their boxers like a couple of dorks, but Stiles is almost too relaxed to care. 

Five minutes later however is a different story. 

They try and clean up as best they can but they basically just end up naked under Stiles’ duvet and wrapped around each other all over again. Stiles stares unabashedly at Derek’s dick for at least half of that experience. What? It is the first time he's seen Derek's junk, he wants to savour the moment. 

It’s nice though just being wrapped around each other with no real rush for anything else. They'll go out later, meet up with the rest of the pack, grab take out and settle in for a movie night or something nice and easy. There's nothing else planned for the moment. Except round two, once they’ve recovered a little. Stiles is definitely looking forward to that. 

He’s looking forward to any future that has Derek in it. He’s sentimental that way. 

It’s not perfect. They end up bickering over whether or not they should put clothes on in case his dad gets back from the night shift early. Stiles elbows Derek whilst trying to get comfortable at least twice and Derek pretends to be mortally offended. Even though he totally isn’t. 

Stiles just lets it all sink in. How warm, content and safe he’s feeling at that exact moment. Sexually satisfied and looking forward to more opportunities to repeat the experience. There’s no I love you’s being proclaimed yet but Stiles is pretty sure he’s already in that zone. And from the way Derek’s holding him, he’s thinking he might be feeling the same kind of way. 

It’s funny how non-threatening it is now. Sleep. 

There’s no real conscious effort of resistance. No fighting it anymore. He just lets the furnace of heat that is Derek’s body warmth, soothe him as closes his eyes and drifts a little. 

Somehow he falls asleep. No playlist. No nightmares. Just him. And Derek. 

It’s not perfect. 

It’s _better. _ ____

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
